


Champion

by Vashoth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Happy Ending, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, World record breakingly stubborn dumb jocks and I love them a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An escaped slave takes refuge in the small coastal kingdom of Kirkwall. Fenris steals the identity of a knight and finds himself locked into a kingdom-wide competition for the title of "Champion", half the royal coffers, and the hand of the heir to the throne. Meanwhile Audrianna, Queen Leandra Amell's oldest daughter, has a promise to keep to her sister--and she's not going to let a silly competition stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1: An Overdue Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was made to cure a craving I didn't even know I had until Nebulad and I started talking about AUs for Fenris and Hawke. First it was all about costumes and riding around on horses being gallant, and then I ended up having to write this. It's my first ever multi-chapter fic, but I can safely say that I have shoved every other thing off my to-do list in favour of writing this. Once this particular piece is done I have every intention of writing more stuff for this universe, so stay tuned and hold on to your socks! 
> 
> And if for some reason you prefer to read this on a different site, it's also available on FF.net (my username is "Ingredient X"). Or, if you're interested in little tidbits of information or snippets I decide to leave out of the story, I have a tumblr dedicated to that sort of thing (ingredient-x). 
> 
> Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

I

…

The chill in the air made the humidity of the coastal town bite hard at the tips of Fenris' fingers. Metal gauntlets and plates had been the mark of a slave owned by someone with power—someone who could afford the metal workings for some _thing_  dispensable. They had gone from thus to basic protection, and now to an icy coat across his knuckles threatening him with frostbite. It wasn't cold enough yet for that to be a real concern (he hoped), and the numb ache that came from weeks of travel was more than enough to distract from it. Kirkwall was within reach before nightfall at least. There would be shelter somewhere that provided more protection than the unforgiving rockslides of the Storm Coast.

The elf had wrapped himself up in tattered rags and a cloak, covering his armour and markings as best he could. The hood draped around his face unevenly. It was high enough so that green eyes sharp despite the lack of sleep could still see around him but low enough to cover the shock of white hair that would give him away. The pack he kept on his side was small. No rations remained, a tattered blanket he'd stolen from an abandoned campsite was wrapped around a measly dagger (more useful for paring wood than flesh) and single gold coin. He could figure out the details later. Fenris was still determined to put distance between him and the Tevinter hunters that had their eyes on his bounty. Cold skin was not enough to make him forget the burn of the markings.

Bare feet sloshed and drudged wearily through the mud. The cold slime between his toes was enough to make him long for a bath. The smoke pillars rising from the village surrounding Kirkwall castle whispered promises of warm water, hearth and meat that hadn't been salted into a preserve. Fish and bread and…

Fenris shook his head, feet determinedly moving forward. His journey was not done yet. In the field ahead a knight in glistening silver armour slammed his sword against a young boy with a wooden shield. The boy cowered and shook beneath the blows. Fenris did not need to be close to know his knuckes were white around the leather grip on the practice shield. The sword that slammed repeatedly into the wood, however, was anything but practice. The sword was easily the size of the child, wielded by the two unforgiving hands of the towering knight.

_Keep walking_. The little voice in the back of his mind urged him to focus instead on the smoke pillars. One of those had to be an inn with fresh bread and ale.

A wimpering cry from the young boy drew his attention back sharply. A loud crack and the shield had split in two, but the knight did not seem to notice. The heavy metal swung at the retreating boy's figure catching him across the back with a sickening slice. Fenris did not stay put long enough to see if the blade had run too deep. He snatched the dagger from his pouch and dropped the sack in the field without any further hesitation and charged at the knight.

The heavy helmet gave him the advantage of surprise as he plunged the blade into the slits between back and chest plates, searching desperately for a heart to slice open. The blade was too small, to hampered by bone. Fenris growled in frustration, the lyrium in his arms burning. The sensation of phasing through a live man was one he would never grow accustomed to, but he found the man's heart with no issues and ripped it free. Only briefly did he see the wide eyes bulging in terror behind the helmet of the man he had killed but he paid no mind. Instead, he saw the wide eyes of the injured boy staring at the gushing organ in his hand. The wounds were severe across his back and he stumbled to find his feet. Fenris quickly dropped the heart.

"Don't be a fool. I'm not here to hurt you—" Fenris was aiming for softness, but even he could hear the hostility in his voice. The boy, failing to stand, pushed himself into a helpless crawl. The blood gushed down his back and Fenris could hear him choking on the blood filling his lungs. Fenris reached a hand out to stop him, the icy gauntlet drenched in the boy's master's blood clamping down on his shoulder.

The boy flipped over in a haphazard motion, bloodied hands gripping tight a small dagger aimed at Fenris' throat. He had killed the boys' murderer and all the child saw was a threat. An elf glowing with strange markings that had pulled a humans heart from his chest. Fenris watched and did not interfere as the light passed from his eyes, and the dagger fell harmlessly to his side. He reached out to close the child's eyes as gently as the spikes on his hands would allow. He glanced up at the smoke pillars contrasting more sharply against a sky that was fading to a dull yellow. He had time.

…

II

…

The grave was shallow. It was the best he could do. The knights' body had been stripped bare and thrown aside like the result of a bandit attack. For all the guards would know, that's what it had been. The fancy garments cushioned Fenris' side nicely and the armour, though slightly too large, covered his markings and gave him the look of a native Kirkwall knight. The helmet hid his hair and face. It was disguise enough for now. He did not like wearing the skin of another that would abuse the power he had no right to.

He stared at the pale body before him, the stab wound and the heart lying a few feet away. He was tempted to leave it as such. Leave it for the hunters that chased him as a warning to what this slave was willing to do to them. Leave it as a warning for the guards that dare ask questions. But he could not afford such bold statements. Not yet. Not when he was so fresh from his flee from Tevinter. Not when he was still running. But the man did not deserve a grave nor the respect that came with it. Instead, a tempered fire took his body, ashes hushed and stomped out before the smoke could draw attention.

The sky had darkened and the house across the field was looking more and more appealing. Behind it were empty stables. Likely an investment by the now dead knight. Candlelight burned dimly in the windows, flickering since they had not been changed in hours. Newly booted feet trudged through the field towards the weather worn wooden door. Like sleepwalking, Fenris hardly remembered the crossing. All he knew was the warmth of the room behind the door, the feel of furs beneath his feet and a cot well laden with quilts.

Poorly constructed wooden shelves held rusted weapons and vases. The kitchen reeked of old food and stale water. The floorboards creaked under him and the fireplace had only embers left. The house had only one room, really. The cot was towards the fireplace and looked like it could comfortably fit one. The boy, he supposed, slept on the floor somewhere. Or perhaps the stables. The thought had Fenris' upper lip curl into a bitter scowl. He slung the dirtied helmet and rucksack on the floor, not feeling bad for the bloodstains soaking into the wood. The cot was calling to him. He wanted to rest so badly, even if just for a moment. Just one night without running.

_This is a bad idea_. The voice of reason returned.  _The guards are going to find the boy. They're going to look here first._

Fenris stood there mournfully staring at the bed. Reason told him he needed to keep moving. This was not going to be a quiet cottage for long. But the blankets—

Something moved.

Fenris' slack posture tightened in an instant and his hands gripped the handle of the dead knight's sword. It could have just been a shadow from the fire but a quick look told him that it wasn't emanating enough light for that. He scanned the room slowly and carefully. Something rustled behind him and he whirled around. The flickering candle went out. Fenris raised his sword slowly.

He saw out of the corner of his eyes the glint of metal and felt a warm body suddenly pressed to his back. The twin blades caught him just beneath the chin and kept him frozen to the spot. Hot breath hit his neck followed by the purr of a low voice.

"My," A female voice rumbled, "You are certainly not Ser Vincento. You have  _much_  better hair."

He remained still, biting his tongue. He could rip the assailant to shreds as soon as she—

"And this, this is his armour," she said. One dagger slithered away so her hand could check for the crest then wander the gaping hole in the side where Fenris' fist pulled the still-beating heart from the knight. She feigned a gasp. "Am I to assume our noble knight has passed?"

"There is nothing noble about beating a child to death." Fenris snarled before he could stop himself. The woman's laugh was throaty. He thrashed lightly against her hold only to be rewarded with a sharp edge digging into his throat. He raised his chin daring her to finish the motion.

"That leaves us both in a precarious situation, my friend," she started. "I had a good gig here. He'd leave to go train for that stupid competition, and leave his house unattended. How am I supposed to rob a dead man?"

"Hardly my concern,  _thief_ ," Fenris spat the words. The woman laughed again.

The knife withdrew and Fenris pounced on the opportunity. He had her pinned to the wall in seconds, his hand wrapped around her wrists holding the daggers high above her head. He grasped tight enough to hurt but only the glint of white teeth and shiny red slips greeted him. The woman's eyes shone gold in the light of fading dusk, her wild black hair tamed back with a simple blue bandana. Golden hoops hung from her ears and her neck glittered with gems. Fenris' grip did not falter. With a playful look, she dropped the daggers to either side.

"And more handsome than Vincento, too. A pleasant surprise." The sword on his back did not seem to intimidate her. "I am Isabela. And I have a business proposition for you."

If possible, Fenris' scowl deepened. The woman,  _Isabela_ , did not seem to care. He pressed an armoured palm into her wrists, freeing his other hand to grab the still bloody weapon. She watched with mild interest, gold eyes following his movements with ease. He pressed the blade to her gut, the weight of it harder to bear with only one arm. She stared up at him with mock concern. She worried a plump lip between her teeth and batted her lashes.

"You'd kill an unarmed woman? How cruel. And here I thought you  _needed_  me." Her voice was low, like a secret.

He wanted to press the blade into her torso and have done with it. It had been a long day of travelling and one more death on his hands couldn't hurt the body count, but she was watching him. Her eyes glittered. She knew he wouldn't do it. He dropped the weapon with a clatter and returned the weapon hand to where he held her wrists. She arched into him a little, wriggling her fingers above his grip. He ignored the movement. She traced his form again with her eyes and Fenris was unsure if she was checking for threat or… something else.

"One body is a tragedy," she started. "Two is a problem. But three bodies? That'll start a hunt."

"Then why didn't you just leave?" He snarled. She twisted her wrists meaningfully.

"You're a bit of a hefty obstacle, sweet thing. And I wouldn't want someone as handsome as you being the loose thread that unravels my plans; especially when I was oh so close to payout," she said with a pointed stare at the wrists bound above her head. He did not budge. She smiled coyly at him. "But you do present a  _very_  interesting opportunity to make up for it. You would have cover, lodging… even steady pay if you can back that sword with more talent than our dearly departed friend."

Fenris responded only by narrowing his eyes.

"You see, Ser Vincento was a bit of an investment," she explained. "His gold was nice, but like all drunkards it would have eventually run out. Except that I took the liberty of signing him up for a contest. A contest with a very generous prize."

"And why should your folly concern me?" he asked.

"Because at the light of dawn tomorrow, a messenger is going to come to escort the poor late Ser Vincento to the first challenge of the competition. And they are going to make a very interesting discovery, aren't they pet?"

Fenris felt his stomach drop. He wasn't even half a mile into Kirkwall and he had already blown his chances for laying low. Of course he had had to kill the one man that the entire city was expecting to see on a regular basis. Of course.

"Now that robs me of his victory gold and leaves you sticking out like a eunuch in a whore house. Shame, isn't it?" she said. The look in her eyes was nothing akin to mournful, however. She looked like she was pausing meaningfully so he stayed silent out of spite.

"Aren't you going to let me go so I can tell you my brilliant plan?" She wriggled again.

" _No_."

Isabela sighed, finally looking a touch cross. "That armour,  _his armour_ , fits you. Barely, but barely is good enough. And I'll wager with all that broody, chip on the shoulder thing you have going on that you won't have too much difficulty staying silent. We'd have to cover that lovely face with the helmet, but-"

Fenris' eyebrows knit together and he squeezed her wrists. She grinned.

"So when that messenger comes tomorrow, you'll go with him and win the first challenge for me. You'll have your cover, and I'll have my gold. If you're nice, I might even share. See now? I told you it was brilliant." She flashed him another smile and wriggled again. " _Now_  will you let me go? As kinky as this is, I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers."

He searched her face for some sort of trick. Winning a swordfight was simple enough but there had to be a catch. She met his gaze as impassively as if they were strangers in a bar. One of her slender fingers traced the edges of his meaningfully. He dropped her without ceremony. She winced a little, rubbing the ache out of her wrists and carefully sliding the daggers from the floor back into their sheaths. Outside the sky had gone dark, the pillars of smoke no longer visible save for when a gust of wind carried them across a patch of stars. A yawn threatened to creep up the back of his throat but he quashed it with a harsh swallow.

As much as he hated to help anyone who had been happy to threaten him not fifteen minutes earlier, the woman had a point. He needed cover and the leaden weights on his shoulders and calves told him he couldn't keep running. Not tonight.

"Fine," he said, bending down to pick up the helmet. "What would you have me do?"

"Strip." She said delightedly with a wink. Fenris choked on air. She laughed again. "I need to mend that armour by tomorrow morning. So you'll have to take it off."

The elf's face may as well have cemented itself into a permanent scowl. Isabela did not seem to mind.


	2. Chance Encounter

The castle walls pressed in on her like a vice. The passages she raced down grew thinner and thinner, leaving no room for the cold air that pressed its way to her skin beneath her rags. In front of her, Hector dodged the crowd like it was a game in the eager way that only a dog could. His giant mabari head lolled back to check and make sure she was still following. Little drops of spittle flew from the free flying tongue hanging loosely from his mouth. Hawke offered him an encouraging nod and tried her damndest to keep up. The small wooden heels on her shoes made her feel every nook and cranny of the cold stone pathways, and the cloth of the shoes made sure she felt the dampness of the mud with each step.

In the rags she had stolen she almost blended in with the crowd. The guards closest to her had recognized her and had given chase, but her costume was not yet complete. Hawke ripped off her wig and stifled a cry before tossing the rank piece into a poor farmer's cart that he was struggling to wheel uphill. She pushed her feet harder into the ground to gain more speed. The shoes dug into her already cold feet but she didn't care. She turned a corner and used her momentum to slam her back into the stone wall.

Hector raced forward towards the gate, but she stayed planted. Without pausing for breath, Hawke scooped up a giant wad of dirt in her hands and hastily spread it across her face. Without the wig, she was just a vagabond avoiding the guard to the witnesses around her; and with the caking of mud around her features, she looked the part of the peasant she was aiming for. Hawke's heart raced wildly but her feet stayed still. Her now ruined boots cloaked the way her toes gripped at the ground with adrenaline.

The guards rounded the corner, one grasping a now mulch filled wig, and scanned the crowd. Bethy was going to kill her for ruining that wig. Hawke made herself busy with tying her shoes and avoided eye contact. A couple tense seconds passed until the guards confused yells wandered back from whence they came. She looked up sharply to make sure and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She was free.

Well, almost.

More leisurely now and matching the pace of the castle merchants, Hawke meandered down the pathway. Once she was feeling more comfortable she haggled with a fruit vendor. Tossing a silver coin out of her pocket with a glimmer in her eye, she snagged an apple from the wide eyed elf unable to look away. Before she could ask where a peasant had found such coin, Hawke's feet had already carried her far away. With the casual saunter afforded with anonymity, Hawke made her way towards the gate of the castle.

The arch of the gateway extended high into the midmorning sky where the sun was thinly blocked by the stone. Light still bordered the tallest peak and added a brilliant silhouette to the wrought iron bars that cascaded down in a violent spear. The tips dug into the stone bridge, guarding her only way out of town. Hawke kept her eyes down as she approached the guards in a practiced motion. Her hair was sticky and scruffy from being kept under the wig. She scrunched her bangs forward casually to hide more of her face and rubbed the excess oils into her cheeks. The first wave of guards passed her without comment. Hector was barking up a storm somewhere outside the gate. He had probably only just now noticed her absence and was throwing a tantrum. It created the best distraction.

"Papers?" A gentle but firm hand grabbed her by the elbow. Hawke remained limp to the touch and used her other hand to pull papers from her pocket. They were as grubby as she was and twice as crumpled. The guard made a show of trying to smooth them with a disgruntled expression. It was a power play, but she didn't care. She waited patiently.

"Thank you." The papers were shoved back into her open palm without further showmanship. Hawke had to concentrate not to let out a breath in relief. The stones polished by hundreds of years of footsteps quickly became jagged the further away from the gate she got. For a brief moment she regretted bringing her new boots.

Hector bounded up to her side nearly knocking her over. His giant head slammed into her palm over and over to let her know he had been worried, but not overly so. She knelt down and scratched his cheeks roughly until he whined.

"So what are we doing today?" She asked. His tail whacked the ground happily. "We could go hiking again."

The mabari tilted his head disapprovingly. "Right, okay. We've done that a lot. How about swimming?"

Hector bristled and shook his fur. "It is a bit cold, I suppose. Well then, what do—"

The hound's eyes locked on a goose that had the misfortune to land nearby. Hawke could barely get out a 'don't you dare' before the he  _bolted_. The goose squawked loudly and took off but Hector was too fast. The great beast landed a large paw on the bird's wing and the goose went down. Hawke tried to move forward to get between them, but Hector's delight was cut short with a bite on the nose and an angry squawk. He reeled back into Hawke's knees knocking her flat on her back. Hawke wheezed. The goose darted down the dirt roads heading for the tall grass where it could take off in safety but Hector would not accept defeat. Completely ignoring the shouts of his owner, Hector charged into the grass. The goose had taken flight under the cover of grass and managed an escape without notice. However smart the mabari was rumoured to be, this did not seem to register. Much to Hawke's dismay (but sadly, not surprise), he concluded that the goose had merely run away. He sniffed the air only briefly, then took off towards the stables.

Hawke pushed herself off the ground wearily and dusted the bits of pebble out of her palm before jogging after. For all the chill that had gotten under her skin in castle walls, the sunlight kept her back warm. Her feet knew the ground here and the wind backed her as she moved.

It was a different world. One without dances and wigs, without small forks with specific purpose, and without the disapproving glares of her mother. It was a world where her father hadn't died and the throne wasn't yet bearing down upon her. The grass here was overgrown and browned at the edges, not trimmed and painted to demonstrate the prosperity of the Hawke family. These days were more than just pissing off Leandra and Hawke knew these days were limited. But damnit, for just a little longer, Hawke could pretend that she wasn't the heir to Kirkwall.

Hawke's mother had announced for the umpteenth time that morning that she needed to be married soon. Something about great responsibility, a partner to share the burden, blah blah propriety. Hawke had nodded agreeably and peppered the conversation with the appropriate amount of "mmhm"'s and "of course mother"'s.

"Which is why," Leandra had said, "We have begun preparation for a contest."

"Mmhm."

"Your suitors will participate in a traditional tourney and the winner of the contest shall have your hand in marriage."

"Of course, Moth-… Wait."

"You of course will be free to choose the nature of the battles—"

"A contest," Hawke had spluttered, "for  _my hand in marriage_?"

"Quite serious, I'm afraid," Leandra's gaze was unapologetic. "I have given you ample time to find a suitor of your own volition and you give me no choice."

"Oh so you've done this  _favour_  for me then," Hawke had snapped. She pushed back from the table, and slapped her napkin down on the floor. Beside her Hector had pushed himself up from his nap and stared at her with concern in his big brown eyes. "I have no interest in getting married, mother—"

"Your interest is irrelevant to me, darling." Leandra had not so much as flinched. "Despite what you seem to think, I do not particularly care who you marry—"

"Oh,  _right_."

"—So long as you have someone to share the burden of ruling with. No one should hold the power over a kingdom  _alone_."

Hawke shook her head of the conversation, stepping on some more particularly sharp rocks to distract herself. The shoes had been waiting for her in her bedroom after she'd stormed off as some half-assed apology. A tiny prick of guilt crept up the back of her neck looking at the now tattered shoes, but she ignored it with practiced skill. The sun still warmed the tips of her shoulders against the cold and the wind still lifted her with each step. She jerked her head sharply at the sound of Hector barking nearby and broke into a run again.  _If he's killed more livestock, Gamlen might actually throw me in the dungeon._

The path wound into a terribly made and hopefully abandoned stable. There were no horses to be seen but the dog kept hollering.  _A thief, maybe_? Hawke pushed her way inside to see Hector backing a terrified looking elf into a large pile of extremely moldy hay.

His hair was a shock of messy white, matching a series of tattoos dragging from the tip of his chin downward. His widened eyes moved from the dog to her but the expression wasn't fear. Surprise maybe, but there was a ferocity as he scrambled to gain footing that did not lend to surrender.  _Not a thief then_ , Hawke thought dryly. She wrapped her hands around Hector's collar and yanked. Of course she hadn't nearly enough strength to actually pull an angry mabari away from their prey, but it Hector had only been playing. At the touch of his master, his tongue lolled happily and he knocked his body weight against her side.

"Sorry about that," she offered. The elf was still staring at her in silence. "He probably thought you were a goose. He doesn't mean any harm."

"A… goose?" His voice was deep. He pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. He was tall. Tall for an elf, at any rate and certainly taller than her. She stuttered.

"W-well. Because… You know." She gestured to his hair awkwardly and tried to smile. "It's white. Like a goose."

His eyes narrowed. She cringed.

"This is Hector. He's not a threat, I promise." She pat the beast's side roughly. Hector's tail beat out a happy rhythm in the dirt. "And for the record, I'm no threat either."

The elf did not look convinced, though he did go from glaring at her to irritably picking bits of hay from his clothing. It looked worn in, though she wasn't sure if it was just from wear. Once clear of hay, he trudged around to the back of the stall and started digging through an equally looking knapsack. She cleared her throat a little. He very pointedly ignored her. Hawke bristled.

"Well then. I apologize for disturbing you as you are obviously very busy," He shot an irritated look at her, "and I wish you the best of luck tending to the  _many_  horses of this stable."

He found whatever it was he was looking for in the knapsack, palmed it and turned around to face her again. With two long strides of his thin legs he was very close. Hawke's breath caught and her heart rate sped up. He carried himself with the confidence and strength of a warrior and Hawke was suddenly very aware that she had no way to defend herself. She should have run then and there but she kept her chin stubbornly lifted and met his gaze evenly hoping that he couldn't see through her bluff.

He grabbed her hand and she flinched. Before she could yank it away he planted a filthy but heavy coin in the center of her palm with long fingers. He let her hand go abruptly.

"Take the coin and tell no one you saw me. Is that clear?" His voice rumbled through the stall again and Hawke tried not to shudder. The elf did not seem to care and instead strode back to his knapsack to re-organize the contents. There was a large sword tucked up underneath it, perhaps in an attempt at being hidden, but the tool was at least as tall as she was and wide enough that she could not have lifted it if she tried.

"Are you a criminal?" She asked before thinking. The incredulous look he gave her made her regret speaking.  _Well done_ ,  _Hawke_ , she thought.  _Taunt the dangerous stranger_.

"I am  _not_." His answer offered no clarification. Her hand found the top of Hector's head and the mabari whined. Though she may not stand much of a chance, surely Hector could take the elf. He was so skinny, after all.

"Then who are you?" Her voice was operating without her control. She wasn't sure why she hadn't run yet but her feet remained stuck to the dirt floor. He gave an exaggerated sigh and scowled.

"I gave you coin in return for not offering my location to anyone, and yet you think I will tell you my name?" His eyebrows were raised mockingly. She huffed.

"Then what do you expect me to call you?"

"I expected you to call me nothing. I had  _expected_  you to leave."

"You're very rude." She glowered at him. The coin still weighed heavily in her palm. It was of Tevinter make and caked in grime.  _He must have travelled_ , she thought. She would have given anything to be able to do the same. If she had the strength she would have run away years ago, but the threat of bandits and apostates kept her ventures outside the castle brief. Hell, even if she had been able to travel, she wasn't sure where she'd go. Just having the option would have been nice. Hawke's eyes flicked back to where the monster of a sword lay. She brushed some of the dirt away with her thumb then tossed it back to him with more confidence than she felt. "No deal."

His hand went to the hilt of the sword as his eyes followed the coin. If Hector hadn't been with her, she was sure he would have attacked then and there from the look he gave her. She swallowed thickly. He stood up and dragged the blade up with him. The metal made an awful screech across the pebbles in the dirt. Hector growled.

"You would sell me out, then?" He asked.

"I didn't say that," She said stiffly. "I said  _no deal._  I don't want your coin, but I do want something else."

His hands gripped the sword but he did not take a stance. He looked her over a couple times, presumable gauging if she was a threat. Hawke clenched her teeth and kept her gaze. Hector's weight beside her reassured her.

"I want you to teach me how to fight."

She may as well have slapped him. His eyes went wide and he tilted his head as though he could barely hear her.

"I'm sorry, you what?"

"I want you to teach me how to… how to fight." She swallowed again. Her throat was unhelpfully dry. Hector nudged her hand. "It obviously matters that no one finds you, and uhm. Well, I won't tell anyone. You don't have to pay me. But… You have a sword. Surely you can use it?"

He blinked at her then at his own sword. He answered warily, "I can, yes."

"Well…" She trailed off. "Then teach me and I won't tell a soul where you are."

He just stared at her.

"Teach me well, and I'll even try to throw whoever is after you off your trail." It was a poor attempt at humour, but hell, she tried. The tension he radiated with thick enough to cut with a knife. Her heart beat at the base of her throat and threatened to escape out of her mouth. This was it. One shady elf in an abandoned stable offered her the last chance she would likely ever have at an alternative to her life.

"Well?" She prompted impatiently. The elf still looked like he was waiting for her to put on a jesters hat and do a merry jig. "Do we have a deal?"


	3. Two Promises and a Lie

"You do understand," Carver spoke with thinly veiled venom, "exactly how much preparation goes into trying to recover lost royalty, do you not?"

Hawke grumbled something inaudibly about the exercise being pointless and his grip on her arm tightened uncomfortably. Hector had abandoned her to bound back to the castle kitchens, undoubtedly scaring the pants off of some peasants on the way. At the moment she was still a peasant herself, and it was best that she remain so for the long walk back to the palace. It just wouldn't do to have the heiress to the throne being seen dragged back by the leader of the castle guard. As such, Carver took the liberty of throttling her once or twice to really sell the illusion. It had nothing at all to do with personal frustrations, Hawke was sure.

Strangely enough, she felt most at home like this. Well, the handcuffs and throttling she could do without, but the dirty clothes and her short cropped hair made her feel like her lung capacity had doubled. The fact alone that Carver had picked out a new recruit purely in hopes that he would memorize Hawke's face and have a slim chance at stopping her frequent escapes was flattering. She wasn't just a butt for the throne, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Or at least she would be soon. The elf had agreed to her request. Well, to her blackmail. He could still decide to pack up and skip town and there was nothing she could do about it, but she was going to go back soon. If he was gone, well-

"Watch the steps."

Hawke would have keeled over if it hadn't been for Carver and the new recruit's grip. She quickly regained her footing and shot Carver an icy look. He didn't even try to hide the smile visible under his guards helmet.

The doors to the inner palace swung open silently—a testament to well-oiled hinges. Before here stretched white and gold marbled tile half a city block long and freezing to the touch. Ornate rugs embroidered with rich reds, purples and copper offered small relief, but they were not there as functional pieces and clearly not designed to withstand the mud Hawke was unapologetically tracking in with her. The family crest of the Amells hung from perfectly stilled tapestries on the walls, on the banners, and reflected in colour within the yards and yards of hand stitched drapery. Even the hanging lanterns had been etched with a calligraphic "A", with a subtle addition of wings.

Adding the wings was possibly the last sentimental act of Leandra Amell. It was a small tribute to her dead husband. The last of the warmth she had found in the world, or so she liked to tell Hawke. With the death of Malcom Hawke, his name and involvement quickly was added to the many skeletons in the closet of the royal family. The dearly departed King was described in the vaguest terms at best, or more typically not at all. The Amell name returned to all those with the good sense to use it. The Hawke name became just a rumour; the legend of the apostate that stole the Queen's heart.

At the end of the hallway sat the throne atop polished marble steps. The bannister shone brightly even from a distance with intricate carvings of dragons and knights in ceremonial armour. As was the usual, the throne sat bare in the hallway without a noble or an attendant to keep guard. The most valuable piece in the castle, a chair, and it stood alone. She averted her eyes. It was not a sight she liked being reminded of.

The steps down towards the holding cells were far less polished, save for the indents that came with many armoured footprints. The delicate golden laced candles turned into bland wooden torches and the wallpaper peeled and crumbled with mold and dust. The uneven gait in the stairs was a path she knew quite well, the dirt caked floor at the bottom one she had practically memorized. There were three cells guarded by rusting metal bars from disuse. Each had a cot filled with hay, a bucket that supposedly held water, and an old cracked mirror lain into the outward facing wall. She watched in the mirror of the center cell as Carver and the recruit halted to open the door.

She braced herself before they could heave her into the open cell like a sack of potatoes. Her shoulder took the brunt of the fall, legs scrambling to push herself upright into a sitting position. A couple strands of white hair had fallen across her face. She shook them out of the way with a puff of breath and watched her brother expectantly. Ignoring her, Carver had turned his attentions back to the recruit. He closed the cell door with a slam and pointed at her face. Hawke gave them both a sly grin that did not reach her eyes.

"If you see that face, you are to track her down and bring her to this exact cell in the same manner we have done today." He barked the order so sharply that the recruit faltered. "If you fail to keep track of her, you are to come to me directly with no delay. Is that clear, soldier?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The poor recruit was practically shaking in his oversized boots. Carver waved a hand to dismiss him. He waited until the clamouring footsteps no longer echoed in the hall to turn back to his sister. She raised her shackled wrists and waved expectantly. Carver scowled and turned back towards the steps.

"Just stay where you are," he said. "I'll get Bethany."

"Somebody had a bad day, huh?" she called after him. Despite the obvious tension in his shoulders, he did not turn around to answer the prod. Hawke's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Surely enough, the echo of his footsteps faded along the staircase leaving her alone with herself. Hawke sighed and shuffled around to rest her back on the bars. Her reflection stared back at her with hollow cheeks and apathetic eyes.

She looked like her father. Her mother told her all the time, but she didn't have to. With what Hawke remembered of Malcom, she didn't need the resemblance to be pointed out. Her skin was darker than her siblings, lips fuller, and the silver gray of her eyes was unmistakable. With her hair cut short and messy as it was, she could have passed easily as her father's boyhood self. She had none of her mother's blue eyes or black hair, none of the ease in command that Carver had inherited or the magic that flowed in Bethany's veins. She was an empty replica made to sit on a throne that did not remember the original design. She offered the mirror a small wry smile.

Soft padded footsteps on the stairs tore her attention away from the mirror. Her sister's head peered out of the stairwell glancing around quickly to verify they were alone before swinging the hefty staff around the corner and rushing over to her sister's cell.

"That was fast—" Hawke started but Bethany quickly shushed her.

"We don't have a lot of time, Rees." Bethany zapped the lock on the cell with something that smoked. The metal lock melted away to the ground with a sizzle. "Whatever you've gone and done this time, I hope it was worth it. Mother is pissed."

"What?" Hawke blinked at her. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a run on the grounds with Hector—"

"For a whole day?" Bethany shot her an incredulous look. "Sister the sun had long since set by the time Carver found you—"

"By the time I let Carver find me," Hawke corrected.

"—and we thought you had really done it. Finally left for good." Her sister's face was hidden by the mop of black bangs as she worked over Hawke's shoulders, knees and hands checking for small nicks and bruises to heal. Hawke felt a pang in her heart.

"I'll never leave without you, Bethy," she said, reaching for her sisters hand. "I'm taking you with me on our grand adventure, remember?"

It was a poor attempt at humour, but Bethany laughed. "Oh and leave Carver in charge, then? He'd love that."

Hawke winced. Bethany stood up, leaned her staff against the cell door and left for the chest near the stairwell. Hawke contained the urge to bolt. She knew the contents of that chest very well. It supposedly carried the possessions of potential prisoners, to be either destroyed upon their death or returned if found innocent. Unlatching the front, Bethany's small hands pushed the heavy top open to rummage around in its contents. First she pulled out a fine silken dress. Not one of the finest, but a backup just in case her sister made a habit of getting locked in the cells. Which, of course, she did.

Bethany unfolded the dress with careful hands, gently passing it to Hawke. Hawke grabbed it roughly, ignoring her sister's disapproving frown, and placed it on the cot with the hay. She slipped out of her raggedy garbs with heavy spirits. The rags collapsed on the floor as meaningless without her as she was without them. She stepped into the dress with practiced ease. The corseted top fit tightly around her waist and pinched in around her shoulders. Two small padded blocks pressed her breasts up to her collarbone where they remained secured with lace and ribbons. The familiar sensation of limited breath returned as soon as Bethany helped her tie the lacing in the back.

Hawke looked in the mirror again. There was the same face, her father's face, staring back helplessly. The dress draped around her in elegant shades of purple and gold with a flair of red beads around the waist. Hawke watched sadly as her sister plucked the wig piece from the chest to secure onto her head. The hair was a thick and lustrous black, like that of her sisters but longer. Leandra had told her that length was a sign of privilege and class; that she had the time to keep up with such a look. It was necessary, her mother had said. For the peace of the kingdom her father's face must be forgotten. In the mirror Audrianna Leandrea Gianna Dawn Amell, Heiress to the Royal Throne of Kirkwall, and Princess of the People stared back at her. The only remnant of Hawke shone defiantly in cold grey eyes.

"Rees," Bethany said gently.

It was short for Audrianna and what the twins had called her when they were little. It had stuck. It was certainly less of a mouthful than the full title. She gathered her skirts and turned to face her sister. Bethany's hands guided her newly healed shoulders into a better posture. Rees scowled. In the pockets of her dress, Bethany pulled out her cosmetics bag and tended to her face until it was clean of the grime, powdered and painted like something resembling a ruling class noble. The sisters stared sadly at each other for a moment before Bethany started hiding the evidence. It was routine at this point. Chucking the discarded garments in the chest to be forgotten, tucking the bag of lipsticks and paints back into her robes, and Rees stepping out of the cell like the prisoner she had been a few minutes prior had not existed.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Bethany gave her a trying smile. "Besides, it'll be worth it for our grand adventure. You did promise."

"I did," Rees returned with a grin. "I'll sneak you out of here and show you everything, Bethy. Soon."

Sooner than we may have thought possible, Rees thought, thinking back to the elf in the stables. Bethany gave her the same wistful look she always did, going back to get her staff. Rees opened her mouth to tell her sister of the new prospect but quickly bit her tongue as Leandra paced down the steps.

"You would risk your sister's life and the state of your kingdom for a bit of fun?" Leandra's blue eyes locked on Rees like arrows. Rees looked down. Her mother continued coldly. "I need not remind you what your lackluster performance as a leader inspired in your brother. My only son now fighting lowly criminals—risking his life—because you could not find it within yourself to accept your responsibilities."

"Mother, that's hardly fair. Rees did her best to dissuade him. You cannot blame her for his stubbornness." Bethany protested. Leandra's lock on Rees was scathing.

"And you would have Bethany risked as well? Was your fathers death not enough for you?" Leandra's voice was shrill and biting. Rees had frozen to the spot. For a tense moment no one breathed. Beside her, Rees heard Bethany's fingers tighten around her staff and felt her own hands ball into fists. Leandra's shoulders slumped just barely perceptively and her eyes softened with bitter worry.

"The world is not kind to mages, Audrianna. It is not kind to many," she said. Rees didn't look up. Leandra locked a finger under her eldest daughters jaw and forced her chin up. "But it has been kind to you. You have a responsibility to your family, to Kirkwall, to make this world kinder. I cannot protect you from that."

Rees felt her jaw twitch and a sting in her eyes threatening to show. The sorrow in her mother's eyes hit her like a stone between the ribs. The dress was suddenly three hundred pounds heavier on her shoulders and the wig weightier than any crown. Leandra searched her eyes for something.

"I'm doing what is best for you, Audrianna-what will keep you safe. Please," she paused to grasp her daughters hand, "please do this for me. Promise me you'll try."

Rees couldn't look away. Beside her Bethany had stilled. Her mother spoke of the contest for her hand in marriage she knew, but more to what came after. Leandra Amell was asking her to prepare for the throne. Before her, her mother was no longer the iron Queen that had seen Kirkwall through small wars between neighboring kingdoms but an old woman as frail as she felt. Rees thought of the elf in the stables, the huge blade and the power that could come with it. She thought of the strength to protect Bethany and Carver both, so close within her reach. She thought of the caravans she had dreamed of smuggling them aboard, travelling far away as a rag tag group of siblings wanting to explore Thedas. Rees swallowed hard and nodded.

"I'll try, mother." She lied.


	4. Chapter 4

…

I

…

In the gut of Kirkwall there was an open plaza. The rocky pavement was sanded smooth by the crossings of vendor carts and the apartments high in the surrounding towers had strings of paper lanterns and colourful banners. A popular pub had even grown from the old wood from the gallows stand, constructed with scrap metals and drift wood and sealed until it had warmth glowing from it at all times. It was called The Hanged Man, in homage to the locale, Rees supposed. Today the vendor's stalls had been collapsed and ordered neatly to the far corners of the plaza. For once, no song or hollering came from The Hanged Man. Instead the citizens of Kirkwall stood silently and watched as the court bards courtiers decorated the stands built at the edge of the steps to the palace. Atop the stands stood their Queen, the two princesses, and the royal guard captain.

Beneath them the court workers busied themselves with tacking drapery to the fronts of the wooden stands. Announcers puffed out their chests and hummed odd vocal warm-ups for the day's events. Like wolves circling halla, knights in glistening armour circled the newly appointed arena.

"Ser Adey!" one announcer bellowed. A knight in copper armour bolted into the center of the arena with a helmet tucked under his arm and the other raised to wave at the cheering masses. He was a decent looking man with sandy blonde hair cut short and swooped back. He bowed low before the stand before blowing Rees a kiss. Rees forced a smile back, feeling suddenly quite naked under the eyes of various potential husbands. A creepy notion at best.

Bethany nudged her side discreetly whispering, "He was sort of cute! In a foppish kind of way."

The bile rising in Rees' throat begged to disagree. "Then  _you_  marry him."

"Ser Gilbert!"

This one sauntered in with ease. His long black hair was braided behind him and his beard was kept short but thick. He offered a curt nod to the crowds behind him (a few of the younger ladies swooning) before bowing deeply. His eyes, however, stayed trained on Rees. She met his gaze coldly, not liking the predatory tilt of his brow. She nearly strained a muscle trying not to openly scowl at the man. Bethany nudged her again.

" _Smile_ , sister. They're all looking at you." She said.

"I am well aware of that, Bethy." Rees hissed.

Knight after polished knight bowed and took their place in the central gathering. Rees was grateful for the dress and wig for once in her life. She hid behind her fan like a shield, waving it coyly often enough to avoid Leandra glaring daggers at her. Carver stood vigilant at the edge of the booth, checking names off the roster as they were announced. The great gleaming ceremonial sword hung at his side, red tassel blowing gently with the breeze. Every once in a while, he'd motion to the guards separating the crowd from the knights to push back a little more. Even with all the pressure to keep the onlookers and contestants both safe, he was unwavering. Rees felt a ball of jealousy twist in her stomach.

To her side, Bethany was the perfect princess. She waved and smiled at merchants she recognized. She giggled when knights tossed roses at their stand, holding them gently in her arms. Her finery suited her. Glittering gems brought out the blues of her eyes and the circlet draped around her short thick hair without slipping even once. The younger princess caught her sister's eye and nodded encouragingly. She reached over and slipped her hand over the fan Rees wielded and brought it down. With a subtle reminder to sit up straight, Rees took the hint. This was her ceremony. Even if she didn't plan on seeing it to the end, she would have to feign interest or Leandra would have her back in etiquette classes.

Audrianna Amell pulled herself to the edge of her seat, mimicking Bethany's eager interest, held her shoulders back and met the gaze of her knights without flinching. She would never have Leandra's grace or Bethany's charm, but she'd be damned if she hadn't mastered her father's icy stare. A few of the knights looked away from under her gaze, a couple even fidgeting.  _Good_ , she thought.

"Ser Vincento!"

The knight stumbled out from the crowd as if pushed. He was thinner than his counterparts and the metal he wore shone a deep black. Unlike the knights before him, his helm was already fixed on his head and his sword was already drawn. He stood upright, almost too straight, and his gait looked practiced. The man paused before the booth of the royal family, nodded curtly, then presumed to join his peers. The crowd's cheers quieted to hushed whispers. Imbued with the sudden boldness from her sister's encouragement, Rees stood up and walked carefully to the edge of the booth.

"What, no kisses from Ser Vincento?" she called. Rees could feel Leandra's disapproving glare boring holes in the back of her skull, but she did not care.

The knight paused mid step, turned to face her briefly. For a split second it looked like he was considering a reply, but a woman's shrill cough from the audience interrupted his motion. He instead continued his walk to the contestants gathering. The whispers were almost audible even from the distance now and Rees was thrilled.

When she sat back, Bethany had the lacey fan in her hand and used it to whisper in her ear. "Awfully rude, don't you think?" she said. "Though he does have a nice butt."

Rees laughed. For the first time that day she was starting to think she might actually enjoy herself.

…

II

…

Fenris suppressed the urge to pace by instead leaning on one of the collapsed vendor stalls and tapping a foot impatiently. The air inside the helmet was already muggy and it felt like he had blinders on. The sword he had stolen hung heavily on his back. It was oddly comforting to be armed to the teeth again. The citizens shooting him looks were not nearly as intimidating if he imagined their reaction to a cleaver the size of their torso aimed at their throats.

"Try to look like you're excited, Ser Vincento," Isabela stood next to him, detailing her nails with a small file. Stolen, probably. "This is, after all, a very big day for you."

"Win this silly competition, split the money down the middle, then parting ways with you forever. It does sound rather exciting." He drawled. She laughed.

"We never agreed on the portions of the winnings, pet. I was thinking more of a ninety/ten sort of arrangement."

That had Fenris on his feet in a flash. "What? The only reason I agreed—"

"Shelter, disguise, and a  _portion_  of the winnings." Isabela reminded him. "I have kept my word, have I not?"

If he could have killed her right there without drawing attention, he would have. She laughed again, that wicked smile dancing in her eyes telling him she knew this full well and was loving it. Beyond them the announcers called out names one after another.

"You can always back out, you know. Abandon the armour and go back to being on the run." She twirled a finger in her hair and stepped just out of his line of vision. He drew his sword and followed her steps clumsily. The heavy armour made it almost impossible to keep up with her damned circling, but Fenris managed.

"Though I should warn you," she said, pulling a piece of poster paper off the walls and passing it to him. He reached for it with a clawed gauntlet and she yanked it away. Instead she stepped closer, ignoring the sword and reaching for something in her brazier. The glint of gold was unmistakable—his only coin. She held the poster up where he could see it. On it was sketched a mad looking elf covered in very little but blood. His teeth were fanged and eyes glowing. The top of the poster read "Tevinter Fugitive: Very Dangerous" and beneath the sketch "Reward: Dead or Alive". Isabela twirled the Tevinter coin between her fingers.

"Not a very flattering depiction, sweet thing. Disguise may be your best bet at the moment." Her smile told him she knew she was victorious. He was at her mercy and she wanted the blasted gold.

"Why not win it yourself?" He asked. "You were not shy with your blades when you accosted me."

Her eyes widened and her smile faltered. He took a step closer, the tip of the blade dragging sharply across the smooth stone. She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the announcers bellow.

"Ser Vincento!"

"I guess you'll have to find out." She smiled and placed both palms squarely on his armoured chest. With a strong shove, Fenris found himself staggering out into the open plaza, sword in hand.

The gathering of knights stood off to his left, a few throwing quizzical looks his way. He knew they couldn't see it, but he scowled anyway. The elf took a few careful paces forward, not sure what to do. The tall booth before him had some nobles on it as far as he could tell and the fervent whispers of the crowd told him he was being disrespectful. Hesitantly, he offered a curt nod to the bunch before quickly turning to gathering of knights he presumed he was supposed to join. The whispers got louder and Fenris winced.

"What, no kisses from Ser Vincento?" A sharp voice called at his back from the booth. Fenris paused.  _Kisses_? What on earth kind of competition required  _kisses_?

He turned around to see one of the noble girls, shiny black hair down to her waist hanging limply around her shoulders. She had stood from her seat and grasped the handrails to stare down at him with disdain. His lip curled and he was about to offer a rude gesture instead when Isabela coughed loudly and meaningfully from the sidelines. Begrudgingly, he continued to trudge over to his place with the other seven knights.

A guard with long red hair tied back with a band was going over instructions. Fight til surrender, not death. Fight with honour, no magic. Fenris tuned out. It looked like this was going to be about as interesting as a bar brawl. The guardswoman began sectioning them off into pairs.

"The winners will advance forward into the next round," She announced loud enough for the crowd to hear. "And the winners from the second round will advance into the third and final round for the grand prize."

Fenris groaned audibly. The knight he had been paired with (Ace? Ables? He couldn't remember) shot him an irritated look before securing his own helmet. Three whole rounds full of these gawky squires pretending to be knights was not what he had signed up for. He searched for Isabela in the crowd but the thief had conveniently vanished.

Once sectioned off into their four quarters of the plaza, Fenris assumed their allotted fighting space, the red haired announcer walked to the center and drew her sword skyward. The guard captain on the stand behind her matched her motion. Like clockwork, the guards protecting the onlookers from the brawl followed suit. Fenris eyed the swords nervously, a spiked hand checking to make sure his helmet was fastened properly.

"For your honour," the guard captain and the guardswoman shouted in unison. The rest of the troops echoed. Fenris brought both hands to the hilt of his sword, steadying his feet and watching his opponent shift his weight from foot to foot.

"For half the royal coffers", the guards shouted again. Fenris' shoulders hunched, coiled, ready to strike.

"And for the honour of the hand in marriage of her High Majesty, Audrianna Leandrea Gianna Dawn Amell, Princess of Kirkwall!"

Fenris froze.  _What?_

The crowd around him roared and he only barely had enough time to glance at the stand where the long haired noble woman (princess?) had taunted him to see her mother (the  _queen_?) hold her hand high in the air. Seeing his gaze, she sneered and blew him a kiss. Fenris' heart sunk to his feet.  _Oh no._

The knight in front of him in copper armour was already steadying his blade. The insignia on it spoke of nobility, of professional swordsmanship classes, high education and priviledge. The knights behind him brandished their weapons and stood tall. They were looking less like gawky squires and more like the guerilla fighters of the Free Marches Fenris had heard about. This was not just some street brawl. These were real knights. This was a fucking battle for  _royalty_. Fenris furiously scanned the crowd for Isabela again.

" _Begin_!"

…

III

…

Rees pulled her hand away from her mother's grasp. Leandra shot her a disapproving look as the swords began to clash. In the four corners of the plaza the knights hurled themselves at each other. Their armour glinted in the late afternoon sun and clanged with each deafening blow. Rees stood transfixed, watching their feet move in intricate circling patterns. Each blow was carefully decided on and she couldn't pick just one coupling to watch. Bethany's hand found hers and pulled her into a side hug.

"It is a bit exciting," she said, "having a bunch of knights in armour fight for you."

Rees scoffed. "I'll place a bet that most of them are doing it for the coffers and a shot at the throne."

"Then at least someone with skill will have a chance at it," Carver offered bitterly from where he stood. Rees quieted.

The first victor was announced. Guardswoman Aveline held up the fist of Ser Gilbert. The knight took off his helmet and spat blood onto the dirt. When he smiled at Rees it was crooked and bloodied. The body behind him, however, was faring worse. Guards rushed in to place the loser on a stretcher, carrying him to the castle's infirmary as fast as could be done on foot. Rees stared back at Ser Gilbert impassively.

"I hope he loses." Bethany's voice was quiet, but it had an edge to it. Her sisters eyes were following the man on the stretcher with worry. Rees silently agreed.

The second battle ended with a crash, both knights appearing to have charged at each other. The bulk of their armour toppled them both onto the ground. The knight in silver on top landed a swift elbow to the back of the white knights' helm ringing it like a gong. The other man went limp. Aveline moved to hold his fist high in the air. The crowd roared.

That left two fights remaining. The black knight with the broadsword versus the copper knight. Behind them, another knight in silver brandished his longsword. His opponent had chosen a peculiar looking lance. More like a scythe than anything else, really. The metal shaft was gripped firmly and twirled in lightly armoured hands, and the blade at the tip narrowly missing the gut of the silver knight. But the silver knight was clever. He stepped an armoured boot down on the blade of the lance and swung hard at his opponent's chest. There was a brief flash of blue. Rees and Bethany watched wide eyed.

The man with the lance had thrown up a barrier. There could be no doubt about it. The blue circle encompassed him and was steadied by his outstretched hand. Carver hollered something at the guards. A pack of them immediately got between the silver knight and the mage. The lance, no  _staff_ , was wrung from his hands and his arms bound with speed. Aveline muttered something to his captors and the dragged him towards the palace dungeons. Next to Rees, Bethany was white as parchment and breathing heavily. Rees placed a hand over hers. Neither of them paid much attention to the silver knight's victory.

All that remained was Ser Vincento and Ser Abey. The copper knight was fending off the giant blade it seemed, but the barrage of attacks didn't end. Vincento moved too swiftly for him, the great blade swung as though it were a feather. It was only a matter of time before Ser Abey was outmaneuvered with a blow to the chest from the blunt end of the greatsword. The crowd roared as Aveline lifted up the knight's fist but Ser Vincento did not seem to care to stick around. While the congratulations were being announced formally, Rees watched the black knight slink back into the crowd to disappear behind the tall buildings.

Bethany's hand clawed at hers, waiting for the exact moment they were no longer obligated to sit still. The shrill cry of the announcers trumpet signaled her freedom and she bolted. Rees tried to keep up, hoisting her skirts up and thanking the maker that she had chosen to wear flats instead of heels. But her sister was too fast and Leandra had a grip on Rees' arm like a vice.

"You will stay and greet the victors," her mother growled. It was not a request. Rees sighed defeatedly. Bethany would have to wait.


	5. A Small Chance

…

I

…

The sun had long since set by the time she was frantically pulling at the strings of her corset and taking the strings of gems from around her neck and wrists. The beads spilled haphazardly onto the flat of her vanity dresser, and the dress draped over the back of the chair. With nimble fingers, she undid the pins of the long black wig, placing it delicately on the pale faceless mannequin head that sat on the left side of the mirror. Crossing her thickly carpeted chambers with bare feet to her wardrobe, she plucked out an old comfy pair of slacks and a loose fitting shirt. Maker knew she needed breathing space after the  _socializations_.

She flopped back on her bed. The red canopy of drapes spread from each of the four columns at each corner of the massive mattress, drooping slightly in-between the pillars. It was the same sight she had woken up to and fallen asleep to for her entire life, and there was comfort in that familiarity. Hawke ran her fingers through her short silvery hair. She pulled and scratched until the flatness the wig left behind was replaced with her usual scruffy mop of a bob-cut. She sighed happily and pressed her shoulders further into the cushions. She felt the weight of sleep crawling up through her tired legs and resting heavily in her bones. Her heartbeat thudded gently in the silence of her chambers, and her breath slowed. Her eyelids drooped, unable to focus on the red drapery.

Hawke sat up and shook her head abruptly.  _Bethany_.

She spared a glance at the wig and dress. Her mother usually insisted on her wearing both, even around the castle. But the last time she had seen her sister… No. This time she would do without. She just wouldn't get caught. Simple enough.

Hawke heaved herself back onto her aching feet and returned to the oak wardrobe. Behind all the hanging finery and house robes, she had a small stack of servant's garbs. Swapping out of her pajamas, she slipped on her flats again and ducked out into the hallway.

The second floor of the palace was always quiet this time of night. Below, servants bustled and cleaned during the night, occasionally crossing the foyer with an armful of linens or fresh candlesticks. Their footsteps were muffled by the time the sound reached the balconies of the second floor, dampened further by the carpets and tapestries that stilled the palace into a stony silence. Hawke was counting on that. She moved with practiced ease, knowing just where the floorboards creaked and where they didn't. It was only a short walk until her hand found the silver knob to Bethany's room. Quietly as she could, she cracked the door open and slunk in.

Her sister had already blown out most of her torchlight. The bed in the corner, a blue replica of her own, sat in complete darkness. The blankets were thrown around in disarray and pillows bundled into a heap. Bethany herself however sat a small wooden desk facing the window. One small candle burned to light her parchment and the furious scratching of her quill let Hawke know her presence was still undetected. Leaning back on the door, it closed with a click.

Bethany jumped a little, nearly slamming into the desk, before glowering at her sister. "You could always  _knock_ , you know."

Hawke grinned at her. "But that would ruin the surprise."

Her sister looked her over, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. If she recognized the disguise as one Leandra had recently confiscated, she decided not to comment. Instead of offering explanation, Hawke grabbed a pillow from the heap and sauntered over to the desk. She plumped up the silky thing before placing it gently on the left hand side of Bethany's chair, leaning against the flat wood. Easing her tired joints down onto the ground, she leaned back on the pillow and stared up at her little sister. There were dark circles under her eyes and lines on her cheeks that had grown deeper since the earlier festivities. Somehow a smile still graced her features when she reached out to touch Hawke's hair.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "I'm fine, alright?"

"Of course," Hawke said. "Seeing a mage arrested by your own twin couldn't possibly be upsetting."

Bethany tsked at her, turning her attention back to her writings. The scratching of the quill returned with vigor. Hawke watched her carefully. Bethany's face was grim and guarded.

"He was not a bad man, you know." Bethany spoke quietly.

"Was?" Hawke asked pointedly.

A small smile returned to Bethany's face. "Somehow he managed to find himself in that one cell with the secret passageway. A truly tragic escape."

"Ah yes," Hawke smiled knowingly. "I know it quite well. The sewers aren't so terrible of a way to travel if you stop breathing for a bit."

Bethany laughed. "I'm sure he found it preferable regardless."

Hawke settled in comfortably on the pillow. The shadows in Bethany's cheeks lifted ever so slightly. She thought again of the elf in the stables. Every inch of her ached for sleep and rest but she only had so much time. The first of the contests was over. Her mother had declared the next be hosted within the next month. This was allowing, of course, for the victors to be healed up and rested from their fights. Hawke frowned.

"How did you know he was a good man? He cheated." Hawke asked. Bethany frowned, but did not look up from her papers.

"He defended himself."

"Alright, fair. But still. Past that, how do you know he wasn't some crazy blood mage? One of the ones the Templars are always on about?" Hawke asked.

"His name was Anders," Bethany said, "and he apologized for failing."

"Failing?"

"Mmhmm. He wanted to be able to make changes in Kirkwall from a position of power. 'Less rioting and escaping required'. His words." Bethany twirled the quill thoughtfully in her fingers. "He knew why I was letting him go without even asking."

Hawkes eyes narrowed slightly. "He knew of your abilities?"

Bethany nodded slowly. The quill began its scratching again.

"And he's out there in the world again? Knowing that you're a mage?" Hawke pressed.

"You sound like mother," Bethany reprimanded her sharply. She looked down at her older sister. "Would you rather I hunt him down and kill him on the off chance that he tells someone the truth?"

Hawke cringed. "No. I suppose you're right."

They fell into a comfortable silence again. The candlelight flickered across the marble walls casting an orange glow wherever the light fell. Even in her comfortable robes, Bethany held herself upright and proper where Hawke remained slumped. The window looked out to the cliffs near the castle. The jagged rock was barely visible in the pitch black of night. The glow of the town outside the city walls was faint.

"Hey," Hawke said, "Bethy."

"Mm." Her sister did not look up from her desk. Hawke reached a hand over and prodded her knee gently until she got an exasperated look.

"I need a favour."

"No."

Hawke sat up indignantly. "What? Already? You don't even know what I'm going to—"

"If I help you sneak out of the castle one more time," Bethany turned in her seat to face her sister directly. She looked tired again. "Mother will skin us both alive. You have a responsibility, sister."

"So then I won't get caught—"

"You say that every time," Bethany interrupted.

"—and I mean it!" Hawke returned.

Her sister's expression did not budge. Beside her, the mound of papers was piling high. Research, Hawke knew, into hiding magic. Sometimes into removing it altogether. Notes on tranquility, first-hand accounts of magic occurring unexpectedly, and detailed analysis of the tomes from the Circle their father had escaped from. It was what she concentrated on when she was scared. Hawke's eyes flickered back to the window where the small glow of the town was lessening with each passing minute. Bethany sighed and reached out to brush her sister's bangs out of her eyes.  _Like a proper princess should_ , Hawke thought bitterly.

"You would make a good queen, Bethy." Hawke said quietly.

Her sister laughed. "Hardly. I'm a push-over. I'm re-considering helping you escape even as we speak."

Hawke looked back at her with hope in her eyes. Bethany started to shake her head, looking for all the world like she immediately regretted the words.

"Bethany listen," Hawke started, ignoring Bethany's groan. "Remember what I promised you? When we were little?" She adjusted so that she could sit up on her knees and point out at the coastline. "I told you that I'd show you the world. Like dad talked about."

Bethany laughed. There was no bitterness in it. Rather admiration for her older sister shone in her eyes, but she placed a slender hand on Hawke's shoulder nonetheless. "I think we might make it half a block out before a particularly vicious nug took us both down for the count."

" _Listen_ ," Hawke pressed. She tapped at the window pointedly. "I may have found a way to actually pull this off. There's a real chance and… Well I can't go into the details. But give me this chance."

Bethany searched her sister's face. Hawke returned the gaze, finger still insistently on the window pane. She could see the tiny flicker of hope in Bethany's eyes. It had died considerably over the years, but it wasn't gone just yet. She looked to where Hawke's finger pointed and worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Alright. But you have to promise me this will stop after the contest, Rees." Bethany stared hard at her. Hawke flinched a bit, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

"I promise."

…

II

…

Fenris slammed open the door to the cottage so hard he didn't have to look to know it was off its hinges. He saw Isabela staring wide-eyed at his raised sword for only a split second before ducking through the door frame to the kitchen. He swung the sword at her anyways, the metal getting stuck in the wood bordering. He yanked at the hilt for a few seconds then gave up and ducked underneath. He did not need a sword to kill a thief.

Isabela had her back to the iron oven, both daggers drawn and ready. She had the same grin on her face as earlier that morning but it fit her better with the weapons out. He did not slow his pace. His right arm tensed, lyrium markings glowing a bright blue before a soft aura engulfing his arm until it turned translucent. Isabela's grin dropped immediately.

" _Whoa_  there, pet. No need for any of…" She gestured vaguely at his hand, ducking out of the way of a swipe at her heart. Fenris was not discouraged. He kept up with her motions, darting and snatching trying to get a grip on her heart. She blocked him with the daggers but never made a move to attack.

"Hey, pretty boy would you  _listen_?" She yelled at him. He snarled in response. She ducked underneath his massive sword and aimed a swift dagger at the splintering wood surrounding it. It fell sharply like the blade of a guillotine between them. Fenris ducked down to pick it up and she placed the sharp edge of the dagger at his throat.

"My name is Isabela. I'm a pirate, and I need to buy a boat. Or steal it, I'm not picky." She huffed between words, trying to catch her breath. His eyes narrowed slightly. "To get a crew to steal a boat, you need to be able to pay them. To buy a boat… well. I need that gold. It's that easy."

" _Easy_?" Fenris spat. "You  _lied_  about—"

"The three rounds? Your lovely bride to be?" Isabela grinned. "I know, I know. I'm just awful. And besides, I didn't know what your motives were. I thought you were just some schmuck with a sword. But  _now_  I see Tevinter fugitive posters amd I'm thinking, 'Hm, Isabela. I wonder if it's best to just kill him and be on our way.' Gold is gold, right?"

Fenris made a low sound in the back of his throat rising with his sword and pressing the skin of his neck to her blade, eyes just daring her to try it. Isabela swallowed thickly.

"So this is your turn, sweet thing," She said. "You know my motives. What are yours?"

"Pirate?" He sneered. "Do you not recognize  _cargo_  when you are looking at it?"

Isabela paused in confusion, her hands still gripping the hilt of her dagger tightly and legs tight beneath her ready to run. Her eyes slowly widened in realization and her jaw dropped. Fenris pressed the blade of his sword more heavily into her gut. They stood there in a stalemate for a full tense minute before Isabela broke the silence with a bark of laughter. Fenris blinked in surprise.

"Wait. Wait. You're an escaped slave and you're  _angry_  about marrying the heir to the throne?" She tilted her head. "As far as I know, even Tevinter hunters couldn't get away with kidnapping a  _king_."

Fenris blinked again. Isabela dropped her blade with a merry laugh, apparently no longer seeing the blade at her belly as a threat. She clapped the stunned elf on the shoulder. He frowned, gears in his mind still grinding away at the implications.

"It will not take them long to find out I am not truly Ser Vincento," he growled. "There is yet to be such a thing as a noble elf."

Isabela waved a hand at him, pushing his sword away with a booted foot. "So what? They also pretend they didn't have an apostate king. Kirkwall is  _great_  at denial."

Isabela pushed past him and stepped lightly over the fragmented bits of door frame now littering the entrance to the kitchen. She had two mugs in her hand and was headed towards the keg of ale whilst muttering something about daft elves. Try as he might, the idea would just not solidify in Fenris' mind. King of Kirkwall. He could not imagine a life he was less suited for. He knew the intricacies of court, but not as a player in the Game. He was about as far from it as possible. A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat thinking of giving commands to serving staff.

Before he could offer another reason to disregard such a foolish notion, Isabela had shoved a mug of foul smelling ale in his unarmed hand, clinking her own mug against it heartily. Just as she raised her own glass to her lips, something crashed in the stables behind the cottage.

"Hey, uh… goose hair? You in here?" A familiar voice called.

Isabela's eyes narrowed and her free hand went to the hilt of a dagger. It took Fenris a minute to remember the ragged street urchin that had stumbled on him the night before with her damned mutt. He motioned for Isabela to be silent. He moved towards the door of the cottage but she caught him with a frantic hand. She pointed at his armour repeatedly. _Of course_ , he thought. _Ser Vincento's armour_.

Quickly stripping himself of the breastplate and gauntlets, he passed them to Isabela (ignoring her appreciative wink). He slipped out of the boots, and grabbed the blade again before moving towards the cottage door.


	6. The Goose and the Mutt

…

I

…

The night air was cold and Hawke drank it in greedily. The open night sky shielded her back, stars and moon guiding her feet to the steadiest rocks in her climb down from Bethany's window. Nimble fingers found grip in even the smallest of plants and crevices of dirt. Grey eyes colder than the biting air were locked on the orange glow of the village—the cottage furthest from the city's limits and the abandoned stable next to it.

She wasted no time. She followed the outside walls of the palace with easy steps. The ache of tiredness from earlier was fading with each sharp lungful of stolen air. Excitement pulsed in her veins as echoes the knights' swords clashing in metallic clangs filled her heart. Her hands flexed, gripping an imaginary hilt. As she walked, she squared her shoulders, staring down an imaginary foe. She thrust an empty hand forward with a flourish, unable to stop a brazen smile from lighting up her face. She imagined Ser Gilbert's smug grin and again swung her imagined blade at the air. Hawke jumped daringly from one muddy bank to a slippery moss covered stone. Her knees wobbled and her heart raced.

Steps turned into leaps. When she felt brave enough, she tumbled through the unkept grass, ignoring the burrs stuck in her hair. She ducked blows and side-stepped each slash with the finesse of a legend. Sometimes she wielded a sword, rarely a shield, and—when she felt her father would be proud—a mighty staff. Before her fell legions of soldiers, armies and kings. She felt silly, dancing through the backwoods like a Dalish elf, but she couldn't stop smiling. These woods were hers. Hawke had conquered them, climbed them and slept beneath the branches. Her arms were slender but they pulled her on each rock and guided her weight down the slick cliffs until she found the familiar dirt path. Her imagined battle was over. Mud caked to her arms and burrs clung to her hair, and she was breathless. But this was a breathlessness that didn't come with corsets or endurance. It left her with new bruises and new aches and a grin so wide it hurt.

The long grass tickled her fingers and thighs as she passed it making good time to the stables. The moon had only barely risen over the peak of the palace. Pale light gleamed off the distant marble and painted her back in a soft glow. She supposed she should've felt bad about her escapades but Hawke could not bring herself to. She was a different person outside the castle walls. Out here she was Hawke, the brave warrior and dashing rogue. Out here she was undefeated. She was her father's daughter.

She held her chin high, scanning the moonlit plains. It occurred to her only as she found the stables that she did not know the elf's name. The imaginary swords were less of a comfort as the emptiness of the plains rushed to greet her. The path down from the mountains was clear here, and the Storm Coast was not known for peaceful inhabitants. Her eyes flicked to the empty path behind her and the jagged rocks in the distance more than a daring fighters ought to have. She was regretting leaving Hector in the castle more and more with each step and fervently hoping this had not been a hopeless endeavor. Swallowing, Hawke gathered on the courage she built in the rocky path behind the palace.

"Hey, uh…" She paused, trying to think of something better than just elf. "…Goose hair."

Nice. She thought. Very endearing.

"You in here?" She called again. She kept her footsteps quiet, the mud and grass padding each step helpfully. Crickets answered her call. Her hands fisted tensely by her sides as she got closer. Peering in cautiously, she saw no rucksack or sword leaning against the stable walls. Her heart beat slowed in her chest, throat tightening. She was too late. Her eyes fluttered shut and she released her clutched fists to hang limply at her side. The risk had been for nothing. She would have to tell Bethany—

"Goose hair?" A low rumbling voice behind her said dryly.

Hawke felt her pulse patter back to life and the grin returning. She spun around and saw the tall lanky elf staring at her like he didn't know what to make of her. The tunic he wore was stained with sweat and dirt, sleeves only reaching halfway down his arms. She traced the strange white tattoos with her eyes, following them to the sword he dragged behind him. Her own fingers twitched at the sight and he eyes flicked back up to meet his.

"Well, I didn't have another name to work with," She said cheerfully. As confidence surged back into her blood, she spoke with less reserve. "So Goose will have to do. Unless you've got something better for me to call you?"

His upper lip curled in distaste, but he did not speak. He slouched and yawned widely bringing a marked hand up to cover white teeth with the back of his marked palm. He watched her for a moment as if unsure what to do with her.

"No mutt this time?" He asked. "Are you so eager to fight without protection?"

She couldn't place his accent, but the mockery was clear. She narrowed her eyes and stepped forward towards him. Green eyes slid to follow her. Her chin jutted out defiantly and she pointed towards his sword.

"We had an arrangement. So either hand that blade to me and start teaching, or cut me down." Hawke could hardly believe the words were coming from her own tongue. But surely as she spoke, her chest rumbled with need. She couldn't wait any longer. She  _would_  not. A vicious sneer spread across his lips as he held the sword between them, hilt level with her eyes and his chest, blade pointed at the ground. Hawke could feel her stomach trying to claw its way out of her throat and pursed her lips stubbornly.

"Then take it from me." He challenged. He brought his other hand to grip the hilt of the blade and drove the tip harshly into the earth. Hawke stepped back, wide-eyed. Goose stayed firmly planted with both strong hands leaning his weight on the giant blade. She swallowed, flexing her fingers and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

She surged forward, heaving herself at the blade and his hands. He looked surprised, but not enough so that he couldn't easily block her with one well aimed swipe. Hawke came crashing to the ground with a soft thud. The new line of bruises that was sure to trail down her spine took away whatever fear she had left. Re-positioning herself on all fours, she aimed a kick at the man's knee. He swayed easily out of the way, leaving her weight misplaced. She stumbled again, catching herself on her open palms.

Grumbling in frustration, she stood up again, charging at him. When his arm raised to block her, she ducked underneath like avoiding one of Carver's guards. She slid in the mud behind him, forcing her muscles to tense for a jump. Her arms clawed at his shoulders and he let out grunt of irritation reaching both arms away from the blade to throw her off. She came crashing down in front of him painfully. On the ground, Hawke scrambled to regain her footing. Too slow he realized where she had placed herself—between him and the blade—to stop her from grasping the hilt with both hands and pulling as hard as she could.

The blade didn't budge. Hawke's triumphant grin faltered and Goose's laugh met her instead of a clean victory. She yanked again, the tip of the sword coming free and the weight of it following. She very quickly toppled over the flat metal following to knock the wind out of her. Hawke groaned, pinned under the enormous weapon. Goose was watching the whole affair with delight. She glowered at him.

He sauntered over easily and placed a heavy boot square on top of the sword. Even flat as it was, the weight pushed into her belly and tightened her ribcage. Hawke squirmed underneath, nails clawing at rock and dirt to find some sort of leverage. The elf rested more of the weight on his foot stooping down to lean on his bent knee. His eyes steadily watched hers. She twisted and puffed great gasps of air feeling her lungs tighten and her pulse grow faint. She could barely breathe.

"Are you scared yet,  _mora_?" His voice cut to her core. She snapped her eyes back on him angrily, still unwilling to give up.

His weight was lifted abruptly when his shoe moved. A strong hand gripped the hilt of the sword resting near her neck and lifted it as though it were made of air. He swung the bade back as Hawke watched, eyes wide. Her breath stilled thinking that this was where she was going to end. This stupid blade was going to break her sisters heart and all because she was too selfish not to accept her mother's gift.

The blade landed softly with a light clink on the pebbled ground next to her face. Goose's eyes were still narrowed, watching her every move with deep distrust.

"You are not fit for this,  _mora_. Go home." He slung the blade over his shoulder, resting the flat end against the back of his neck.

He paused only briefly to give her one last look of disgust before turning to walk towards the ramshackle cottage. Hawke scrambled to her feet. Her heartbeat was deafening. Her hands clutched at the ground shakily, finding a palm sized stone to clutch. Without thinking, she hurled it at the back of his head. It hit squarely between his shoulders and he swore in a tongue she didn't recognize.

"We had a deal, Goose." She spat into the dirt and roughly wiped the mud off her face. He turned to face her slowly, eyes disbelieving. Hawke didn't care. She repositioned her feet to give herself a better fighting stance and raised two shaking fists. She shook the bangs out of her eyes and met his gaze with a snarl of her own. The elf let the blade fall to the ground with a clatter. Hawke flinched only a little.

"Fine,  _mora_." He watched her shift her weight between her feet, itching for a fight. "Convince me again."

That was all the warning she had before the elf charged. His fist connected solidly to her gut hurling her back against the wall of the stable behind her. Hawke gasped for air, eyes wide. He sneered at her. With a vicious grin of her own she heaved herself back onto her feet and stood again with a nod to show him she was ready. He charged again and this time she side-stepped, bending her knees and spinning around behind him like she had before. Not to be tricked twice, Goose brought his elbow back with as much force as he put into the punch and knocked her to the ground again. She caught herself with her palms, coughing hard.

He twisted to land a kick into her gut again but she rolled out of the way. He tried again and she rolled back into a puddle. Her hands balled into fists as she pushed herself to her feet again, cold grey eyes trained on him. The elf's disgust had morphed into intrigue. It did not stop him, however, from throwing a left hook at her jaw. Hawke stepped back and grabbed onto his wrist hard. With all her might she pushed on his elbow until the taller man was flung face first into a mud puddle. Though try as she might her footing was just not as good as his was. As he fell he gripped onto her arms and she fell with him, her body flush against his with his hands wrapped around her wrists. With a twist of his legs and a harsh shove he had her pinned beneath him.

His white hair dripped dirty water onto her face as she struggled, her own mop of silver being caked with more and more filth with each twist. He lifted her wrists up only to slam them back down in an effort to still her. She growled in pain. His eyes were fierce and focused on hers. Her lip curled, matching his ferocity with her own. She bucked wildly under him and he pushed harder.

"What," she hissed, trying to catch her breath, "does  _mora_  mean?"

He smiled at that and spat the word, "Mutt."

Hawke rolled her eyes and clenched her jaw trying to forcibly push his grip off of her. His hands tightened in response. She puffed out a breath in irritation, scrunched up her nose and slammed her forehead into his nose as hard as she could. Goose reeled back, hands clutching his now bloody nose and howling in pain. On the ground Hawke groaned. Her head throbbed. She made a half-hearted attempt to sit up but grip on the slick mud slipped and she found herself firmly planted where she lay. She breathed heavily, chest heaving.

The elf sat a few feet away cursing fervently under his breath. She raised herself up on her elbows summoning enough energy to shoot him a grin. He scowled at her from under mud plastered hair and thoroughly bloody,  _thoroughly_  broken nose. Not bad for a first fight, she thought proudly.

"So," she said breathlessly. "Any further tests required?"


	7. Intermission/Conclusion to Act 1

…

I

…

The slap was probably deserved, Fenris thought in retrospect, his hand still held to his cheek. Isabela had nearly ripped him a new one for compromising the operation by  _fucking a townie_. It had taken him a full four hours to convince her that the mutt was anything but a threat. Two more hours after that to insist he  _wasn't_  fucking her. Despite his bloody nose and the dark bruise between his shoulders, she still seemed unconvinced. She grumbled something about well if  _you_  won't,  _I_  will something something great tits and the rest was lost as she slumped off to bed.

She had taken the small cot in the center of the cottage with all the quilts. He'd shot her a resentful look which earned him a heavy fur thrown in his face a string of Rivaini curses and a small pillow thrown at his crotch. He took it without fuss and lay down next to the fire instead.

"How long is this training of yours going to last?" She pestered, a foot digging into his side. He swatted her away.

"I don't know. Until  _mora_  tires of being beaten, I suppose."

"Oh god you've named it." She groaned, flopping dramatically against the cot. "And you know what they say about strays. As soon as you name them—"

"I'm not keeping her, Isabela." He interrupted huffily, pulling the fur wrap further up on his shoulders as if the barrier would somehow dissuade her. It did not. He heard her undoing the laces of her cincher with a soft hum.

"You know, I would be willing to share the bed if—"

" _Goodnight_ , Isabela."

…

II

…

Scaling the castle wall was infinitely harder when going up instead of down, but Hawke didn't care. She was sore as hell, more tired than she'd ever been in her entire life, and could not wipe the stupid grin off her face. Even now she wanted to practice the few stances Goose had taught her before yelling at her to go back to whatever orphanage she crawled out of. It was a refreshing (if startling) change from "your royal highness".

She didn't know how she summoned the strength to sling an arm into Bethany's open window quickly followed by a leg and a heaving roll onto her sister's desk, but the important thing was that she did it. The small brass dish with the melted candle wax hit the chamber floor with a metallic ring. Bethany shot up from her bed disturbing Hector—who had taken refuge at her feet once the kitchens closed.

"Are you insane?" Bethany hissed. She jumped out of bed in an angry huff, stealing one of the blankets to wrap around her shoulders. Hector whined a complaint before settling his great head back on his paws.

Hawke coughed and regretted it. Her ribs were still sore. The closer Bethany got to her sister, the wider her eyes went. She rushed to sit at the desk chair and examine her injuries in more detail. Most of the mud on her had dried into a thin dry coating that flaked to touch. Hawke was breathing hard and pressing her hands to the sides of her torso like she was afraid her organs were going to fall out. Bethany wasted no time in bathing her with a healing glow, drawing her hands away gently and focusing on the areas that made her tense up.

"What the hell happened out there?" Bethany demanded. Hawke shook her head and grinned.

"Sorry. I made a promise. I can't say a word. But…" she trailed off, looking back out of the open window. "It was a success. I can do it, Bethy."

"This is a  _success_?" Bethany snapped. "You look like you almost  _died_!"

Hawke laughed. "But I  _didn't_ , did I? Betcha I could take on that rabid nug now."

Bethany rolled her eyes and pushed her onto her side roughly so she could work on her spine. Hawke groaned but let her work. Her eyes fixed on the distant village, no longer glowing. The first streaks of orange were beginning to touch the horizon. The light glittered across the Waking Sea, lighting a path from Kirkwall shores to the Fereldan mainland. Practically delirious with exhaust, she traced the path with her finger.

"Can I at least know something of this venture?" Bethany's voice was quiet and worried. Hawke curled her hands in towards her chest and closed her eyes. Bethany's magic soothed its way down her spine, ridding her of the bruises Goose had given so generously. It saddened her a little to feel them go.

"Hey," Bethany prodded lightly. "I mean it. I'm not going to keep helping you if you come back looking like this every time. I won't let you die for some stupid promise."

Hawke rolled over onto her back, head lolling to the side lazily so that she could fix her sister with a serious look. Bethany pursed her lips nervously.

"I have to be able to protect you," Hawke said carefully. "I have to be able to protect myself. So I'm learning. That's all I can say."

"Learning?" Bethany looked incredulous, gesturing at her remaining scrapes with wild hands. "From who? They could stand some gentler teaching methods if you ask me—"

" _Beth_." Hawke interrupted her gently. "Trust me. It's nothing I can't handle."

The concern in her sister's eyes was deep and worry lines like Leandra's threatened to spread across her cheeks. She spoke quietly, "Is there nothing I can do to help? Will you not let me do that much?"

Hawke looked at her sister's face. She was no longer the tiny girl with pitch black pigtails following her around the castle. Her big blue eyes still followed her around with a reverence Hawke didn't deserve. Carver used to look at her like that too. She sighed.

"If you want to help, then prepare." She said with a smile. "Because I'm going to show you the top of that mountain before this stupid contest is over. I swear it."

…

III

…

If Leandra noticed the faint traces of bruises or odd bits of grass and mud sticking out beneath her daughters wig over the past week or so, she had been merciful enough not to mention it. Some part of that undoubtedly being due to Audrianna making good on her promise to give the competition a try. Her daughter had even suggested the four victors to be invited to the castle for a banquet to honour their success. Leandra had stood there with her mouth hanging open for longer than it was decent for a Queen to do. Audrianna just laughed left her to think on the notion.

The night of the banquet, she looked flawless. Bethany had clearly attended to her make-up and hair, styling it back into a jewel adorned braid. Her cheeks flushed red with a pinch of rouge and her lips shone dark as blood. She was the picture perfect heir and she acted the part. Each time she received a kiss on her hand or cheek, she'd reward the knight with a regal smile and a curtsey. Curiously, Ser Vincento had declined the invitation begging time to heal from the last battle. The busty woman that delivered the parchment bowed low and deep, but even she could not distract from the jewel of Kirkwall. For the first time in a few years, Leandra Amell was glowing with pride.

…

IV  
…

The sewers stank. It was an obvious enough statement, but Bethany had never quite taken it to heart until she experienced it first-hand. Andraste's ass it  _stank_. She had a red handkerchief tied around her face to block her nose and mouth but it was still a battle not to gag. She'd been stepping carefully as she could (skirts hiked high out of the way of absolutely anything) and she was positive her shoes were ruined. She was starting to get an idea of how Rees always came back a mess.

The light at the end of the tunnel shone a bright green with rich foliage. The smell of shit was starting to fade to that of soil (praise the Maker). She kept her skirts grasped firmly in one hand and shielded her eyes from the sunlight with another. When she stepped out onto the open grass, Bethany broke into a sprint. Anything to get away from the horrid tunnel she'd snuck so many mages out of. She wondered if they might have preferred death.

Bethany Amell was not looking for just any mage, however. As the forest thickened, she had to move slower, careful not to snag her dress on any stray vines. Just as she was about to give up hope, she saw the giant mossy boulder he had described and the cave behind it. Had she not known prior, she would have missed it. Carefully reaching for a branch to steady her, she tried to climb her way towards it.

The branch cracked as she put her weight on it, her hand sliding down the length. She yelped in pain as splintered wood wedged its way into her hand but she still gripped it for dear life. A soft hand caught her by the waist and a strong arm scooped from underneath her knees until she was an armful of princess held tightly against the chest of the knight she had saved.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?" Anders said fondly. Bethany felt her face turn bright red as she struggled out of his arms and back onto her own two feet. She brushed the dirt away from her dress and ran a nervous hand through her hair _. Shoulder back, chin high,_ she thought remembering her mother's advice. Then she thought of Rees and affixed the mage with the most piercing stare she could summon.

"I require a favour."


	8. Malcome Hawkes Final Lesson

…

I

…

After about a week of basic exercises, he'd brought a stack of sharpened driftwood sticks and dropped it at her feet. These, he had told her, are your swords. These are your survival. Mora had stayed silent but the glimmer in her eyes was unmistakable. Her lips had curled up at the corners the first time she picked one up to examine it. Fenris whacked it out of her hands with an easy blow to the back of her palms. She had stared at him wide-eyed, unsure whether or not to go for the stick or his throat. He gestured for her to pick it up again. You should fight harder to survive. The next time she picked it up, she didn't for a second let her eyes leave him. He nodded approval.

The post he had constructed in the stables was rudimentary at best—built to be sturdy not decorative. An empty wire potato stack had been stuffed full of moldy hay until it resembled a human torso sized target. It was bound tightly to a wooden post with two support pillars. Mora stared at the post with an intensity that was a bit unnerving. Her footwork was still wrong, granted, but she had more than proven her determination to survive. Her silver-gray hair was slicked to the sides of her face with sweat and the tip of her stick was drooping in her hands. From where he stood near her, he used the tip of his toes to knock the stick back up to where she should have kept it. Mora's grip tightened on it, careful not to let it drop, and strained her arms to keep her form. She stepped carefully to keep her weight balanced. Still leading with her toes, he noted irritably. He had all but given up trying to teach her to plant her feet like the ground belonged to her. For whatever reason, she insisted on prancing about the place like she was worried her foe might hear her.

She leaned too heavily on her front foot when she swung and pushed back far too early. With her weight off center and the momentum of the sword twisting her smaller frame it only took a light shove to the shoulder to knock her on her ass for what had to be the thirtieth time that night. Her eyes shut tightly and she pressed her lips together, muffling her cry with the back of her palm. She blinked a few times and rubbed her hand over her face.

"Again." He commanded. She shot him a sour look but took her stance in front of the post.

The stick drooped again and again he nudged it upright with the tip of his foot. She grumbled and corrected her positioning, cold grey eyes locked on the target again. She looked ridiculous. The bits of dirt and hay stuck in her hair made the cut of it (obviously done for utility instead of beauty) look more like an old rag. Her full lips and stern expression would have been more intimidating were she not so scrawny. The way she held herself made her seem smaller than she was, like she was perpetually worried she would be seen.

Just as she braced to attack the post again, she lifted her back foot too soon and he aimed a swift kick at her knee. She crumpled to the ground with a barely muffled yelp, clutching the thin stick for dear life. The stick, caught between her shoulder and collapsing leg, snapped beneath her weight with a crack. Mora slumped to the ground with a groan, rolling onto her back and staring at the night sky through the hole in the roof. Fenris huffed.

"This would be a reasonable hour to sleep. Surely you are not already done." He taunted.

Mora stayed still, apparently intent on catching her breath from where she lay with the two halves of the stick clutched to her gut. The moonlight touched a soft purple bruise on the crest of her cheek from when she had slammed into the stable walls earlier. It was barely visible in the dark of her skin, but Fenris knew where to look. He had been trained in similar conditions. Except when he fell there were men with whips and chains, and when he collapsed there were beatings until he passed out or learned to fight them off. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart. She did not deserve to undergo the same regiment.

Shuffling over awkwardly, he offered a hand to help her up. Grey eyes studied his face and hand with equal amounts of suspicion. He scowled, "Do you want help or not?"

Mora watched him like she was waiting for the catch. After a moment, she grabbed the two sticks with one slender hand and grabbed his with the other letting him haul her to her feet. The shadows on her face held most heavily under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. She tossed the two pieces of broken stick off to the side and moved towards the stack of longer sticks behind him. He moved faster than her, picking up one of the sticks and holding it out to her tip first. Her eyes narrowed on his and he raised his eyebrows innocently. Her hand darted forward quickly to grab the stick and he whacked her open palm with it. She hissed and shook her hand out as he lowered himself into a fighting stance. Her eyes went wide as she recognized it and she took a few steps back. She looked frantically around her.

"Come on, Goose, that's hardly fair!" She complained. "I don't even have my own-"

He lunged forward anyways, taking a slow swipe at her middriff. She squawked and dodged it, nearly tripping over the pieces of broken stick she'd tossed aside. He swung high and she dropped low to the ground.

"Improvise, mora," he instructed.

So she did. She grabbed the broken stick, one piece in each hand. When he swung down at her head, she raised the pieces into a cross and caught his swing between the crook of her two shaky sticks. His eyes widened in surprise. Mora grinned and used her position to throw him back a few paces. She hopped up on her feet and gave chase, ducking under the cover of one stick when he swung again and slashing at his side with the other. He blocked it with a sharp elbow to her arm and she stepped back again. Leaning back against one of the walls of the stable, she watched him carefully with a stick grasped tightly in each hand. She looked infinitely more comfortable like that. Less weighed down and more like the faux-blades were an extension of her. His eyes widened. Oh.

"Perhaps it's not my training you need." He spoke slowly, lowering his own weapon. She looked surprised, then angry.

"I would be happy to break your nose again, Goose."

He gave her a wry close-lipped smile. "Not what I mean, mora. Your strength is not... well. Strength."

She looked offended.

"You step lightly. Two blades suit you better than one sword. Maybe this is not something you should be fighting." He warred with himself for a good hard second, unwilling to believe the words were forming on his lips. "I believe I have a friend that can help us."

"A friend." Mora looked at him dubiously. She allowed herself to slouch on the wall a little. "You have friends? Do  _they_  know your name, or do they call you Goose as well?"

Irritably, Fenris threw his stick to the pile next to her, ignoring her. He had no idea if Isabela knew his name. More frustratingly, she knew who he was. He wasn't sure yet if 'friend' was an applicable term. He nudged the stick back onto the pile evenly with his foot. 'Forced acquaintence' seemed more appropriate. Slender fingers prodded at his side. He glanced over at Mora.

"Do I at least get to know this friend's name? Or anything about them?" She sounded a bit exhasperated. She added dryly, "…or you? Except that you through a particularly vicious right hook, I know nothing."

He snorted. "There is nothing you need to know."

"That doesn't sound at all like a trap." Mora shot him a genuinely irritated look. He returned it with an icy glare of his own.

"What would you have me do?" He snapped. "I told you my identity was not on the table. My friends' is her own business."

" _Her_ , huh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Not like that." Fenris squashed the notion as quickly as he understood what she was implying.

"At least I know something now. She's a her, and you're not fucking. That's two things more than I know on you."

Fenris scowled at her. "I'm a he.  _Satisfied_?"

Mora dropped her sticks on the ground with a generally dissatisfied wave. This seemed to be genuinely bothering her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She shuffled her feet against the hay and tried to scrape some of the mud off her tattered boots. She stood still for a moment, running a dusty hand through her hair. She turned around to face him and stood in the small patch of moonlight, leaning against the post. There was something odd about the way she held herself. Something proud and simultaneously reserved. She had the bitterness around the eyes and jaded grim expressions of a street-rat that couldn't be faked, but still it intrigued him. What had given Mora her pride?

Her lips pursed as she tried to find her words. "I have told no one who you are. Or where you are. Or that you even exist." She looked serious. His eyes narrowed. She waved his concern away. "Nor will I. I won't blackmail you. But offer me something for my own piece of mind. At least so I know you're not a murderer, or something."

Fenris considered her carefully. She was no Tevinter hunter—that was for sure. Or if she was, she was the worst that he had ever seen. As far as he could tell, she was no threat, and yet something was wrong. Something about how she appeared only at night, or that she ghosted through the pathways quieter than death. Still, she had trusted him with her safety. He still could not fathom why.

"I am not a… murderer," he started. She smiled grimly.

"You hesitated."

"I'm not a murder." Fenris said more firmly. She seemed marginally more pleased, but waited for him to continue. He puffed out a breath irritably, scouring his brain for some harmless fact _. I am a slave on the run from a powerful Tevinter magister. The marks on my arms allow me to phase through solid matter. I don't have a family. I don't know my real name._  "I can bake."

Her eyes widened in surprise then narrowed quickly to disbelief. "I don't believe you."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his face. "It's true. I've spent a lot of time in kitchens." She stared at him incredulously for a while before realizing he was serious. Then she laughed hard and loud. Fenris watched her, baffled. At least it seemed to be an acceptable fact. "And you?" he asked, "It only seems fair to make this even."

She eyed him curiously. "Something about me? A truth for a truth?" He did not deem the question worthy of a response. He stared blandly at her until she nodded concession. "Fine, fine. I… can dance."

It was Fenris' turn to laugh. It started as a snicker but looking at her standing there with mud and hay sticking out of her hair and bruises all down her arms and legs from falling into walls, he could hardly imagine her  _dancing_. She scowled at him and got that look she had when she was about to try and hit the potato sack. She fumbled with her boots, ripping at the laces, until they slumped off her feet. She dusted her shoulders and hands off then approached him with determination.

Before the elf could piece together what was happening, Mora had snatched his gauntlet covered hands in her own. She placed one on her waist and the other she held aloft. Gently placing her arm on top of his shoulder, she guided him firmly away from the wall and into the moonlight.

Fenris stared down at their feet, trying to keep up with her swift steps. One step forward, a step to match, then a step back to where they began. It seemed simple enough but somehow Mora had them spinning intricate circles around the training post. Light danced in her hair and her eyes remained confidently on his—no hesitation or faltering in her steps. She pulled away from the hand on her waist, and spun underneath his arm. One leg buckled beneath her and Fenris rushed to catch her. Only when he saw the smug smile on her face did he realize that that was what she had intended.

The moment lasted just a second too long. She let out a small breath and he went rigid realizing how close their faces had been. Had she not jumped back onto her feet and let go of his hands, he would likely have dropped her. She shoved her feet hastily back into her boots and with some thought, tucked the two pieces of stick under her arm.

With a quick nod, Mora speedily made her way out of the stables leaving behind an utterly shell-shocked elf. Though she was already out of the stables and beyond his line of sight, Fenris heard her call her usual farewell.

"Goodnight, Goose."

…

II

…

Later that night, Bethany was running a comb through Rees' hair. She'd shed her disguise without much fuss for once and was in the least frilly house robe she could find. With her head in her sisters lap and Hector's giant head pressed against her gut, she stared blankly up at the blue drapery that hung on top of her sisters bed. A silver moon was woven into the center of it and it shimmered where the light touched. It was a comforting sight. Safe.

"Your injuries weren't as bad tonight." Bethany commented, working diligently on combing a tangled bit of hay from her bangs. She occasionally dabbed at the dirty mess with water. "Which is not to say that they aren't bad. But they weren't as bad."

Rees cracked a small smile, but she didn't feel it. The wall to the right side of the room was bare. It used to have a matching bed with a sun spun into the blue drapery. Now only cold castle walls remained. Bethany very purposefully did not follow her gaze. She didn't like talking about Carver's decision. Rees looked back at the fabric above her and felt the tension in Bethany's fingertips ease. She closed her eyes.

"Do you ever get the feeling that someone is just… I dunno. Something?" Rees mumbled under Bethany's ministrations. She picked at her fingertips and nails, pulling bits of dirt and dust from out of the crevices.

"How do you mean?" Bethany asked.

"Like Dad."

"Oh."

They both knew which day she was talking about. Their father had gone out on a diplomatic mission, their mother told them. Something kingly. He'd be back in a week with treats and toys in time for Audrianna's eighth birthday. The twins were only barely old enough to string together words sufficiently. A week came and passed, but still their father didn't return. A hitch in the road, their mother said. The twins were mollified but Audrianna caught the flicker of worry in Leandra's eyes and the anxious twists of her fingers on her wedding ring.

Her father was not on a diplomatic mission, it turned out. Later than the twins were allowed to be awake, Audrianna watched as the guards hauled in an apostate—an escapee from the Circle tower, they said. One who had been missing for years and suspect of conspiracy against the throne. He had threatened the peace of the king and queen, Matthew and Leandra Amell with plots to alter Chantry sisters and Templars raved behind the man demanding his immediate execution under threat of the wrath of Andraste herself. Audrianna watched the fear that paralyzed the queen when she gave a grim nod, skin as pale as ice and lifeless as steel.

The man's form she recognized. It didn't seem real to see him in chains, his beard grown out and haggard, his normally shaved head full of silvery fuzz. He wore dirty clothes. Blood stained robes and his hands were bound. Audrianna didn't understand. She wanted to move, to go hug him and tell him it was her birthday but the people screaming around him kept her frozen to the spot as if by magic.

With a limp hand, her mother gestured to the holding cells. The man was to be hung in the morning. Audrianna shrieked finally, breaking the silence. The adults around the man quieted, some looking at her with anger and others with pity. Leandra moved quickly from the throne she sat on to scoop her wailing daughter into her arms and place a hand over her mouth to hush her. She excused them both from the main hall. Audrianna struggled and cried, her tiny arms reaching over her mother's shoulder towards the man being dragged limply to the cells. Her mother shhh'ed her and muttered please,  _please, hush my darling. For your safety. For the twins. Please. He will find a way, Maker_ please _he will find a way…_

The next morning would be remembered with utter clarity for the rest of Audrianna's life. She stood helplessly on the pedestal for the royal family meant to oversee the gallows. It was tradition. The man that stood alone on the platform was announced.

 _Malcom Hawke_.

Her father's real name. Audrianna's breath caught in her throat. The voice rang through the crowd like it had the taint of a criminal. Like he didn't have soft hands that held her when she fell or warmth that resonated deep within his chest when he laughed. Her mothers hand gripped hers so tightly that it hurt. The twins were too young to attend.

The Templar on the stand stood ready with his hand on the lever, waiting for the signal from the queen. Audrianna felt the tears spilling onto her cheeks as she bit her tongue so hard it hurt.  _Please. Please. Maker please no_. Her mother raised a shaky hand and the man with the sack over her head fell through the trap door. The rope around his neck snagged and Audrianna heard the snap of his neck. The crowd before her cheered on for the safety of Kirkwall while her mother explained politely to the guardsmen that the king had fallen ill and sent his regrets for his absence.

A week later, Audrianna was eight years old and it was officially announced that King Matthew had fallen victim to illness, and that the Queen would continue her reign in solitude.

Rees didn't like thinking about it but it was the only thing comparable. The list of crimes being read to her face didn't matter. She knew in her heart as sure as she was breathing that her father was not the man they were painting. She knew as fiercely that the Templar holding the lever should have taken his place in the noose.

She'd felt it again when Goose had told her he could bake. The elf was covered in ominous glowing tattoos, a fierce scowl and couldn't even tell her his name. But when the words had left his mouth, she knew in her gut that he was not someone to be afraid of. She couldn't shake the feeling.


	9. It Runs in the Family

…

I

…

The sun high in the sky above did not stop the ever dropping temperature in Kirkwall. It had yet to officially snow, but the tip of Bethany's nose was numb and her cheeks tingled. She felt a flush of concentration that started at the back of her neck under the warmth of a heavy scarf that spread all the way to the tips of her ears. Her short black hair was covered by a warm furry cap with flaps dangling loosely over her ears.

Rees offering to appease their mother during the day gave Bethany the perfect chance to slip away. With no prisoners in the cells there were no guards to watch her sneak out every day with a basket full of supplies and heavy tomes. She'd taken to wrapping her shoes in old rags to avoid damaging them more than necessary, but the sewer passage was a formidable foe.

Beside her, an unwashed Anders had laid a mat down over the forest floor. He sat in a simple tunic with his hands resting lightly on his knees. His beard seemed to be in a perpetual state of blond scruff and his hair was tied back with a red band. She had one eye open, watching him. He had been trying to teach her to meditate but she couldn't shake Rees' words out of her head. Was he a good man? Did it matter? As far as Bethany was concerned, his intentions beyond their little sessions were unimportant. He spoke of grand things (of revolution and safety outside circles) and seemed passionate enough. Countless mages had died for less.

Charming as he may be, Bethany decided to keep her guard up. He was just a teacher. Nothing more.

He blinked his eyes open and looked at her sharply, catching her staring. Hurriedly, she pretended to be focused on her meditations. Accessing her inner strength or however it was he put it. She heard him puff out a breath in mock irritation. She suppressed a smile.

"Though I can't fault you for staring, skipping your exercises in control seems a bit ironic." She kept her eyes firmly shut, pretending not to hear him. She heard him stand and stretch, footsteps along the forest floor until his shadow crossed over her. Guiltily, she opened her eyes. He was smiling. "Perhaps today is not suited for practicing control." He knelt in front of her, picking some of the grime off his knuckles and wrinkling his nose. "Is there something on your mind?"

 _Are you a good person? Can I trust you? Should I be here at all?_  Her mind was loud with questions and uncertainties but he undoubtedly meant to ask her what she wanted to learn. She chewed on a lip thoughtfully. Rees' words about preparing had likely been meant casually, but she was hardly going to let her big sister do all the heroics alone. The thought of exploring out behind the castle gave her heart palpitations even with Anders there to guide her. The thought of seeing the Storm Coast for herself… It scared her. What if they got in over their heads?

And what if they  _didn't_? What if they could explore forever?

Noticing her look of concentration, Anders moved to sit next to her. He bumped his shoulder gently into hers. She breathed in calmly, letting the tension leave through the surface of her skin like he had taught her. A mage needed control more than anything else.

He watched her patiently. "What's on your mind, princess?"

"Bethany," she insisted sharply. She did not like the reminder of her treason. She fiddled with the hem of her scarf nervously avoiding looking at his face. "I need to know more protection magic. Not just healing and potions. Like the barrier you cast during the tournament."

"Preventing injury before it happens in often the best way to approach battle," he nodded approvingly. With an eyebrow raised, he studied her face carefully. "Who are you expecting to battle?"

"No one." She said hurriedly, the image of her battered sister laying on her desk with bruises the size of her hand came to mind unbidden. "No one," she said again more firmly. "I want to be able to protect myself. I want to be prepared. It's just… in case."

Anders watched her with an odd expression, something between sadness and understanding. He scratched at his scruff thoughtfully, looking at the forest path before them. He laced his fingers together and stretched until his knuckles popped loudly. Bethany winced. He gave her an apologetic smile then reached hesitantly for her hand. She reluctantly nodded, praying to the Maker that the flush in her cheeks be attributed to the cold. Carefully he aligned their fingers. His were rough and cracked from a lifetime on the run. Hers were the smooth counterpart. Her nails were polished until they gleamed, and scented oils after each bath kept her skin soft. Guilt crept up the back of her spine mixing with cold fear. Had her mother been anyone else, she could have had hands like that.

Gently he pressed his palm into hers. She moved her hand willingly. Anders shook his head. "No, I want you to push back. Do not allow me to move you."

Trying again, she positioned her hand flat against his. He pushed gently again. This time she met his force equally keeping their hands still. He pushed harder and harder until Bethany's hand faltered and her arm buckled. She could already feel soreness creeping through her shoulder.

"Good. Now I want you to cheat."

Bethany blinked. "What?"

"Cheat!" He gave her a big goofy grin. "Not to be a braggart, but I'm a fair bit stronger than you. So use something that I can't match with strength. Remember to breathe."

They matched their palms again. This time Bethany pressed back a bit more shakily, trying to draw power from under her skin. Blue light danced and flickered around her looking for direction. She closed her eyes and focused on the jagged cracks and scars in Anders' hand, pushing the energy there. In one explosive shove, she flattened the power with her palm against his. Like a brilliant wall of light, the magic knocked the blonde mage over with ease.

Bethany yanked her hand back to her chest, wide-eyed in surprise. He had hit the ground harder than she had intended, the breath knocked out of him. He lay flat on his back coughing a bit before he pulled himself back up to look at her. She drew her hands over her mouth, horrified.

"I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you okay?" She spoke too quickly and high pitched, feeling the red flush covering her entire face. He shook his head to clear it and grinned at her.

"Well done, princess!"

"It's  _Bethany_."

…

II

…

Rees woke slowly in her own bed. It was the first time in two weeks that she had done so. She ran a hand through her hair, ruffling the back with a yawn. Sunlight poured in through her chamber window, highlighting the beads scattered haphazardly on her vanity stand. The black wig had been neatly placed on the mannequin's blank head and a dress set out neatly on the chair beside.  _Bethany_ , she thought smiling.

Tentatively, she checked her muscles one by one. Rees wiggled her toes under thick ornate quilts. She rotated her ankles slowly, then bent her knees and clenched the muscles in her thighs. She drew both arms over her head noting the slender lines of muscle becoming more obvious with each passing day. There was a familiar ache from training but no real pain. Bethany must have worked on her more after she'd fallen asleep on her sister's lap.

A wave of memories from the night before washed over her. From groggily stumbling to her own bed, to training with Goose.  _Dancing_  with Goose. His green eyes had been so intent on hers and their noses so close they could have—

Rees sat up abruptly.

She swung her legs out into the cold air and wasted no time in starting her morning routine. It had changed significantly since the start of her training. She stretched the way Goose had taught her, lunging forward and pressing her weight into her forward foot. She kept her arms steady, unable to stop a smile at how steadily she was able to do it. With the grace that came with practice, she leaned forward until her weight was squarely on the palms of her hands. She pushed both legs out behind her and pushed gently off the floor. Tightening her core, she lifted each leg slowly until she was balanced completely on her hands. The trick had taken longer for her to learn. Her hands were not as broad as Goose's.

 _His hands on her waist, breath hot on her face as she pulled him close, his hand gripping hers and eyes watching her feet like she was working miracles with her steps_ —

Rees toppled over in a heap.

There was a sharp knock at her door. She pulled herself back to her feet and padded lightly to let Bethany in. Instead she found herself face to face with her mother. Leandra's lips were pursed in a thin grim line, eyes slightly wide in surprise as if she hadn't been expecting a response. As always, her hair was pulled back into an immaculate bun, grey strands from old age weaving in tiny ornate braids. The lines on her face were deeper each time Rees looked, so she looked at the floor instead. She held the door open silently. Leandra stepped in cautiously, gesturing for her daughter to close the door behind her.

Leandra walked with the grace of a true queen. It would be more accurate to say she glided. Rees had tried for a long time to walk like that-the picture of grace and power combined—but it never looked quite right. Her mother's shoulders were held back firmly and her chin high. Still, something was amiss.

"The second round of the tournament is tomorrow," she said distantly. Leandra was staring determinedly out the window, hands held tightly under her diaphragm. The slender crown she wore glistened in the sunlight. "I assume you have become more acquainted with the victors of the first round?"

"Yes, mother." Rees bowed her head out of habit, even though the gesture went unseen.

She heard her mother take in a controlled breath and watched her shoulders sag a little. Her hands fell to her sides and pale fingers toyed with the lace trimmings on her skirts. She spoke quietly. "I came to apologize."

Rees was afraid to move. "Apologize? For what?"

Leandra turned slowly to face her daughter. A flicker of pain passed through her expression as she looked at her.  _You look so much like him_. It didn't need to be said anymore. They both knew. Rees looked down at the floor, jaw clenching and unclenching nervously.

"I want you to understand why I insisted on this… this tourney for you." Leandra picked her words carefully. Though they avoided each others eyes, Leandra took her daughter's hand gently. "I know you have been making good on your promise. I just…" She trailed off. Rees squeezed her hand gently. "I am old, Audrianna."

Rees looked up sharply.

"I do not want you to make the mistakes I made. Perhaps that is foolish." Leandra spoke softly. "But no one should bare the weight of sovereignty alone. It is too much." She swallowed thickly and attempted a small smile. Rees mirrored it in silence. "If you still feel you can find someone to share the burden with, then I will call off the tournament."

Shock cut through the air like a knife. Rees was stood rigidly, eyes locked on her mother's face. The memory of the stables came flooding back unwanted. Goose was the closest thing she'd had to a friend outside her sister, but she wasn't sure she felt for him like that. The thought of his hand on her waist sent a fever up her throat in a way that wasn't quite uncomfortable but… She didn't even know his name.

Her stomach sank to her feet. Her mother was finally trusting her, showing up with a  _peace offering_ , and the only person Rees could think of was the trainer she'd been seeing in secret. A potential criminal that could probably bake.

"Of course," Leandra spoke to fill the silence, "I will not be able to cancel tomorrow's round as preparations have already been made. I would not want to have the efforts of our house staff go wasted." She searched her daughters face for something Rees couldn't fathom. Her hand, cold and frail traced Rees' cheek where the bruise Bethany healed had been only a few hours earlier. She pushed some of the silver strands back behind her ear with a sad look.

Rees nodded. "Of course. And I'll… I'll think about it."

Leandra studied her face with such intensity that it was hard not to give in and look away. All the grace and swiftness that she had appeared with followed her as she moved around Rees to the chamber door. Her hand paused on the metal handle, holding the door just barely ajar. She looked back at her daughter sorrowfully.

"He would have been so proud of you."

Rees couldn't keep eye-contact any longer. Her mother took the hint and shut the door behind her, once again leaving the reigning heir alone to her thoughts.

…

III

…

The pirate's breath was hot on her ear, lips brushing against the back of her throat. It was like a horrid imitation of spooning where instead of cuddling, Isabela gripped her hands over the sticks like she was worried they might slip away. Hawke was doing her best to focus on Goose, who had his long stick in hand looking poised to attack, but the enormous bosom of the woman behind her was a tiny bit distracting. She was trying as hard as she could to keep the blushing under control but having commands whispered in her ear with as many innuendos stuffed in them as possible was making it difficult.

"Be swift, sweet thing. Watch for his tell." Isabela muttered, squeezing her hands on top of Hawkes'.

Goose's nose crinkled with a held back snarl just before he moved and the pirate guided her swiftly into a crouch, then moved their weight together into a spin. She kept Hawke's arms out with one stick acting as defense and the other guiding her movement as though they were an extension of her arms. She struggled to keep up with the pirate's movements. As they rose together by Goose's side, Isabela pushed her outstretched arm into a sharp sweeping motion. The tip of the stick grazed his side lightly, returning to their side with a follow-through that seemed more like a flourish. Isabela let go of her arms and stepped back. The loss of heat against Hawke's back was sorely missed when the night air replaced it, but her focus certainly increased. Hawke shook her head to clear it.

"Like that, love." The pirate told her. "Now you try without my help this time."

Hawke glanced from her to the armed elf beside her. Sticks or not, they still hurt when you got hit with them. Her mind was still reeling from her mother's offer. It was throwing her off her game. Goose, however, did not seem to care. He quickly took up his stance again and charged without waiting for her to ready herself. He swung the stick in a harsh arc towards her neck and Hawke ducked it like she had countless times already. She mimicked Isabela's footwork ('It's just another dance, sweet thing') and slashed at his side missing by a hairs breadth.

She stood up to re-position herself again when she felt a heavy blow to her side. Goose, deciding he'd had enough of the practice rounds had charged at her again, and she staggered to where Isabela watched. One glance at the pirate told her that she was on her own. Hawke didn't hesitate the next time he swung.

She ducked underneath and forward ('Aim for the vitals. Can't fight if you can't breathe.'), slashing and stabbing at his torso. He jumped back to avoid her but she lept after him. He raised his weapon high above his head to swing down and she spotted the opportunity. Surging forward, she crossed her own weapons and pushed them against his throat with force. Goose stilled, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Hawke's face couldn't have been much different. She hardly recognized her voice as her own when she started laughing. She had  _won_! Behind them Isabela gave a few hoots and hollers, clapping sparsely.

"Well done, pets. Practice over. Can we please go to the tavern now?" She had been pushing the game of Wicked Grace all night, insisting that there was a dwarf there that owed her money. "I'll even by the first round.  _Please_?"

Hawke grinned at her. "Thanks Bela, but I think I'll practice for a little longer." As an afterthought, she glanced at Goose. "If that's alright with you?" He nodded.

Isabela waved a hand at them dismissively, not needing any further persuasion to leave them behind. "Fine," she said. "But meet me there later. The game is no fun in small numbers." Her hips swayed as she walked in a way that had to be deliberate. Rees let out a low whistle in jest. The pirate laughed and swayed a bit more for show before disappearing down the dirt path to The Hanged Man.

Goose was watching her with an eyebrow raised. Hawke grinned at him. "What? I like your friend. She's fun."

"She would be pleased to hear you say so." He said. There was an odd note in his voice that she couldn't place. Without any further warning he attacked again.

Hawke reeled back, fumbling the sticks. She kicked up at the stick with the heel of her boot, knocking it aside irritably. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"

The elf huffed. "You're distracted,  _mora_. It's obvious." He lunged in for another blow but she side-stepped it, landing a solid hit on his back.

"Apparently not so much as you think." She snapped. He swung the stick back-handed towards her skull again and she crouched down thinking to avoid the blow. Instead, he rammed his side into her shoulder and knocked her down. She had spoken too soon.

He pointed the end of his stick at her throat with a smug smile. "As you were saying?"

She scowled back, knocking the weapon away with her own and rolling out of the way before he thrust forward again. His stick slid deep into the earth next to her face, obviously deeper than intended judging from his reaction. He caught himself from falling on her just quickly enough with a hand placed on either side of her face. She had her short stick pointed meaningfully up into his tunic where Isabela had shown her to stab upwards to reach the heart.

Hawke thought again of what her mother had offered. His face was so close to hers, all green eyes and glowing scars. She dropped the sticks and pushed him off with a rough shove. Goose took the hint and sat next to her instead, absently trying to pry his stick out of the mud. She sat up and hugged her knees, staring irritably at the distant castle walls.

"Just a bad day, Goose." She grumbled. "That's all."

He snorted. "And here I thought it had something to do with a bosom."

Hawke's eyebrows rocketed upwards in surprise. "You thought..?" She blinked a couple times to let the idea settle. Warm red crept up her throat and filled her cheeks. "Oh.  _No_. Not  _that_  kind of distracted. Just… Family issues, I guess."

His face took on a solemn expression. "Family issues?"

"You wouldn't want to hear about it, I'm sure."  _My mother isn't sure I'm suited for the throne and wants me to find a mate. You're the closest thing I have to a friend. So how 'bout it?_  Hawke's lips hardened to a grim line. "Pressure from mother, and a dead father. The usual batch of ugliness. Nothing special."

The stick came free from the mud with a solid pull and a nasty squelch. He made a disgusted face and dropped it to the ground beside him. He looked at her and followed her gaze to the castle walls. He fidgeted uncomfortably, looking for all the world like he was unsure what to do with himself.

"I don't remember my family." He blurted out. Hawke stared at him blankly.

"…What?"

"I have no memories of them." He explained. "I'm sure they exist somewhere but—"

"No, I know what you meant but—"

"A truth for a truth." He cut her off sharply. It could've been the moonlight discoloring his features, but she could've sworn he looked embarrassed. "Those are the rules, are they not? Your father is dead. I don't remember mine. Is that not a fair trade?"

It was the worst attempt at comfort she'd ever seen, but it was markedly an attempt. Hawke smiled at him, warm and genuine. He glanced at her only briefly, eyes still focused on the distant castle. She scooted closer. The tips of his ears twitched slightly but other than that he gave no indication that he had noticed. Carefully, minding the bruises, Hawke rested her head on his shoulder. She heard him swallow and hesitate before placing an arm around her. Thinking of the contest round she would attend in the morning, Hawke closed her eyes to the world. For just a little while longer she could be selfish.


	10. The Second Round

…

I

…

The dress Bethany had picked out for her was frillier than she ever would have approved of. So naturally, Bethany refrained from waking her sleeping sister until they had only just enough time to prepare. She brightly told Rees that there was hardly any time to iron any of her other formal dresses so it would just have to do. Rees had given her a dark look from where she scowled under her blankets. At the foot of her bed, Hector snored loudly. She envied the mabari.

Rees eyed the cold stone floor disdainfully, shooting it threatening looks enough times that her sister sighed and brought the cosmetics bag to the bed. She sorted her brushes, powders and inks on the bed. She took a quick look at her older sister and frowned. "I can't really cover up dirt, Rees."

Rees rubbed a hand over her cheek and pulled it away. Sure enough, a thick coating of grime coated her fingers. She blinked tiredly at it and Bethany sighed, "Stay put. I'll draw you a bath."

She left the brushes and other cosmetics where they lay at the edge of Rees' bed to wander into the adjacent bathroom. Rees quietly watched the door swing behind her and listened to the slosh of water being pumped from the ground well. She brought the tip of her thumb and forefinger together, rubbing the dirt until it thinned in the center. The dust from the plains still sat heavily in her lungs threatening her with a deep cough.

"Another  _success_ , then?" Bethany called. Rees grinned.

"More or less. I think I ended up sleeping on his shoulder more than I trained." She said. There was a beat before the water pump fell silent and Bethany's head poked out from behind the door, blue eyes wide as saucers.

"You slept with him?"

Blood rushed to Rees's face so fast she felt dizzy. "No!  _No_. Not like that! We were just  _sitting_ , and I closed my eyes for just a  _second_  and we-"

"You  _fell asleep_  on him?" Bethany grinned slowly.

"No! Well,  _yes_ , but it wasn't like-We're just  _friends_." Rees spluttered. Bethany's grin beamed at her from where she stood. Rees groaned and pulled the blankets up over her head. The water pump was immediately abandoned. Bethany sped across the room and leapt back onto the bed. She yanked the sheets away from Rees' face. Rees gave her a sour look but Bethany was not dissuaded.

"But he  _is_  a friend, though?" She asked excitedly.

Rees rolled her eyes. She thought of Goose's irritable gaze and the arm he'd slung around her. She remembered the heat radiating from his chest and the soft glow of his markings keeping the darkness from really setting in. They were too tired to speak, or too pre-occupied in Rees' case. Rees nodded cautiously. "I... yes. Friend is applicable. I think."

Bethany just about squealed. Rees looked at her in alarm. Her sister giggled and prodded her, ignoring the clutter of brushes. Rees grumbled tiredly, batting her hands away. Bethany's grinned broadened as Rees tried to wrestle the blankets out of her grip.

"So this friend—"

"Trainer." Rees interrupted sharply.

"— _friend_  of yours. Is he handsome?" Bethany's cheeks were burning red just asking, but light was dancing in her eyes. Rees scoffed loudly, and stared pointedly at the drapery above her bed. She was still trying to discreetly wrangle the quilt from her sister's vice-like grip.

"Bethy, I'm not sure I'm even allowed to say," Rees picked her words carefully. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone that I'd even met him and well," she paused to give her sister an embarrassed smile. "You already weaseled that out of me."

Bethany puffed out a breath in annoyance. "You came home covered in cuts and bruises and thought I wouldn't ask why?"

"I know, I know. I trust you, but…" Rees trailed off, seeing the disappointment set into her sister's eyes.

Leandra had never let Bethany partake in many of the court events—even less so after Carver left the comfort of the palace to join the guards. It was for her safety, of course. If someone discovered Bethany to be a mage then she'd be whisked away to the unforgiving circle in the best case scenario. The Circle and its Templars had about as much influence over Kirkwall as the queen herself. It was best not to take risks.

As a result, Bethany's girlhood dreams of meeting diplomats from far off places and playing the part of the beautiful and wise princess had been quashed. It worked out, in a way. Rees' utter incapacity to function as a proper royal heir gave her plenty of opportunities to act as her sister's advisor in secret, soaking up the court life from afar. As many stories as Rees had about stuffy ministers and bizarre ceremonies, it didn't do much to detract from the loneliness.

Rees sighed deeply, giving in. "He has green eyes."

Bethany's smile returned in full force and she fell backwards onto the bed, head leaning on Hector's back. Rees gave her a small smile. Her little sister waved a hand in the air, gesturing for her to continue. "And? What else? What of his hair?"

"White." Rees said unhelpfully, thinking of the mop of hair Goose sported. It looked like it had been styled at some point, but often settled into a vaguely disheveled state.

Bethany looked at her in surprise. "Like yours?"

"No," Rees scratched at her own mess of hair, suddenly a little self-conscious. "No, less silver. It's just…  _white_."

"Very descriptive." Bethany said dryly. Rees scowled at her.

"What do you want to know? He's tan, he has strange tattoos, and he's rather tall for an elf."

"An  _elf_?" Bethany cried in delight. "Mother would  _skin you alive_."

Rees groaned again, reaching behind her for a pillow to cover her face. Bethany kicked it out of her hands with a sharp comment about dirt and fine linens. The grin on her sister's face told a different story though.

"Can we just get back to the part where you try and stuff me in that lacey monstrosity?" Rees complained. "I'm ready to watch men impale themselves on my behalf. It sounds  _much_  less stressful."

Bethany laughed mercilessly. "Tell me about his  _muscles_."

…

II

…

For about the millionth time that morning, Fenris had a sinking feeling. He paced the cottage like a madman, he knew, eyeing the bottle of wine Isabela had brought home from the Hanged Man. It looked terrible, but he wanted it. He had reached for it once already only to have Isabela reprimand him, saying to wait until after he had won the second round.

He didn't like it. For now, the contest was a clean cover. Ser Vincento's mask protected him from the Tevinter hunters that were bound to catch up at some point, and participating made sure none were suspicious of the knight's odd disappearances from the town. As convenient as it was to live under the cover of another man's name, it still felt like running. And eventually, he was either going to lose the competition or have to take off the helmet. Neither of which were going to go well.

 _Even if they were to forgive the murder of a knight,_ He had insisted drunkenly to Isabela _, I am a wanted fugitive and an_ elf _._

 _So wear a hat_ , she retorted.  _The queen isn't going to back out of her promise to declare the winner of the competition to be the Champion of Kirkwall. She can't. It would be political suicide_.

 _How does a title help? A man with a title can still be cut down_. Fenris reminded her.

 _True_ , she had said,  _but not without causing a war. Even Tevinter isn't stupid enough to try another attack on the Free Marches. Not when Fereldan would jump at the opportunity to tear down the empire in the name of Kirkwall's defense._

She was right, of course, but it still felt wrong. Fenris was an escaped slave only by technicality. Staring at the ground and making himself smaller when he moved were habits he felt attached themselves to his bones. Each time he caught himself ducking out of the way of a noble looking townsperson on his way to the damned pub, he felt physically ill. Danarius' cruelty followed him with or without the magister's presence. A scowl settled comfortably on his features when Isabela returned with his polished armour.

"What with the face? You look like you've eaten something sour." She asked, strapping the chest plate to his torso roughly. He stood still and didn't answer. "If you don't tell me, I'll just have to find some new way to blackmail you."

That got a small snort from him. She grinned up at him triumphantly. "Though by all means, keep up the whole brooding thing. It may win some favour with the princess. Damsels in high towers love that shit." He shuffled from foot to foot as she strapped on his shin plates. The scowl returned.

"Ah." The pirate hummed knowingly. "This is about the princess, isn't it?" Fenris offered only a dismissive grunt and held up his arms so she could set his shoulder plates in place. Isabela gave him the look usually reserved for when she was about to suggest something to do with a whore house. "She's certainly not  _Mora_."

" _What_?" Fenris went rigid, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Isabela laughed.

"Nothing, nothing." She waved his irritation away and stepped back to admire her work.

The new armour had been paid for almost entirely by her winnings in Wicked Grace. Spikes extended from his elbows and shoulders menacingly to match the clawed gauntlets he had brought with him from Tevinter. The plating on his thighs was much lighter, letting him move with more ease than Ser Vincento's had allowed and with less chaffing. The helmet remained the same only for consistency's sake, but she had tried to give him more visibility by removing the grate over the eyes. It didn't expand his field of vision much, but it helped.

"Come on, handsome." She grabbed him by the arm and tugged towards the door. "We can discuss that later. You've got a princess to impress."

…

III

…

They were late. Of course they were. Isabela was ranting furiously beside him about the lack of a warning, something about only noble shits getting the nice messenger services. The guards in the castle had politely informed Ser Vincento and his busty esquire that the competition was being held a little ways outside of town. He had started to explain something about the challenge being different but Isabela had yanked him away before he could catch the details. Instead, they focused their efforts on sprinting towards the cave-filled coast.

The new arena was easy enough to spot. It had been set up around one of the cliffsides, with elevated stands for the onlookers brave enough to sit through the bitter cold winter weather combined with mists from the Waking Sea. Guards were posted outside the arena, checking for papers and directing the citizens to the least crowded spaces to view the inside arena from. Isabela approached them with a confidence Fenris was sure she'd summoned from the depths of the sea itself. With a few words laced with a low sultry tone and a warm hand tracing the side of the guard's chestplate, they seemed to be more than willing to forgive Ser Vincento's lateness.

They stopped Isabela from following, however, directing her towards the spectator platforms. Shrugging, she shot Fenris a thumbs up just before the wooden doors closed behind him. He was left standing awkwardly in the mostly empty arena. Save for the other three knights, the red-haired guard, and the odd wild rose bush sprouting from the damp grounds, the arena felt empty. It was much larger than the space afforded them in the city. The royal platform stood with its back to the cliff side, higher than it had been before. Unlike with the first round, a metallic grate had been placed around their booth—presumably for protection. Fenris squinted in his helmet trying to make out the royal family.

The queen and the princess were both visible, each assessing the knights individually. The eldest princess had her long black hair braided intricately and resting on her shoulder. She looked like she had opted for a fancier dress, but he couldn't make out the details through the grate. All he could really see was her red-painted lips stuck in a near permanent frown. This was the woman he was supposedly fighting for. He felt uneasy.

Court life did not suit him as a slave, and he doubted that would change. Despite Isabela's reassurances that he could pull off the endeavor, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The entire point of escape had been to be free from the powers of magisterium and the abuse that came with it. Spending the rest of his life trying to appease a royal family that was sure to find him unworthy (even if he did apply Bela's suggestion of blackmail) did not seem like freedom.

Beneath the royal family was another set of double doors. These were guarded by the red-haired woman that had acted as referee for the last round. He eyed the doors distrustfully. With a nod from the queen, the woman raised her sword to the crowd.

"Today marks round two of the competition for the title of Champion of Kirkwall, half the royal coffers, and the hand of Princess Audrianna Amell!" She bellowed. The crowd roared in response. The other three knights drew their weapons, but did not move to attack each other. They waited for her command. Fenris followed suit.

"Our victors from round one must deliver a single rose to the princess herself. The first two to succeed in attaining a flower and bringing it safely to the walls of the royal booth will continue to the third and final round!" She gestured with her weapon at the scattered rose bushes, then to the booth for clarity. Fenris frowned inside his helmet.  _That's it?_  he thought. She turned her attention to the knights. "Are our victors ready?"

The crowd let out another roar as each knight lifted his sword high into the air. Fenris once again copied the action, looking confusedly at the rose bushes and trying to figure out the trap. There  _had_  to be a trap involved. He looked again at the princess. She was talking animatedly to the younger princess at her side, all but ignoring the knights below.

The red-haired woman drew his attention again with a blow at the locks on the doors behind her. The doors flew outwards violently, cracking into pieces as a literal horde of giant spiders heaved their bodies past the barrier. They scuttled through the mud and rock like a shadow sweeping over the arena. Suddenly the tall walls around him made sense. It was the exact moment when a hissing and screeching spider launched its furry torso at him with gushing venom dripping from its fangs that Fenris decided he  _hated_  the princess and everything to do with her.

…

IV

…

Rees watched the spiders pour out of the caves with great interest. The knights below had hardened their stances, bracing for impact. Ser Gilbert, Ser Medes, and Ser Rector had taken the front lines boldly. They had sent her lavish gifts over the past weeks, each a bit uncomfortably personal. Ser Gilbert had actually had the nerve to send a lacy negligee with a note about praying to the maker to see her wear it in person. Rees had promptly asked Bethany to set it on fire. Ser Vincento had only sent one gift—a bottle of wine clearly purchased from The Hanged Man. Her mother had offered to have him dismissed from the competition.

Leandra was still trying to reach out to her and it was strange. She had complimented her dress, even stopped to fuss over her hair a bit before sitting beside her on the portable throne. Rees knew she was waiting for an answer to their previous conversation, but she couldn't bring herself to decide. Ending the competition would mean making a decision earlier—that much she was sure she couldn't escape. She would have to have a name on hand if she were to have her mother call it off. That was something she couldn't bluff.

Beside her, Bethany was watching the fights with great interest. Her hands were pressed gently to the grate and her eyes were wide. Ser Rector had fallen almost immediately after the first wave of spiders. Guardswoman Aveline had fought her way through the mess to rescue him and a few guards escourted the limping man out of the arena.

"I just hope Ser Gilbert doesn't make it," she said in hushed tones to Rees. "I don't particularly want to have him around in the palace."

Rees thought of the negligee and cringed. Her stomach sank to her feet as she watched the men beneath her slash through the spider's bodies. Without a name for her mother, one of these men would be her tether to the throne. Flashes of her training came to mind, as well as the mountains on the coast. She would be trapped in the palace like Bethany had been. It wasn't fair. Her sister had done nothing but  _exist_  and she had to be imprisoned in her own home for  _safety_.

"Bethany," She whispered urgently. "Have you been… preparing?"

She kept the statement purposefully vague. Her mother was high enough away from them on her elevated throne that she likely couldn't hear, but Rees wasn't going to take the chance. Beneath them, Ser Gilbert slammed his shoulder into the royal booth, other arm holding an untouched rose aloft. The crowd roared as Aveline rushed the first victor off the battle field. Ser Medes had a rose clutched in his shield hand, but he was quickly being overwhelmed by three or four spiders.

Ser Vincento had no rose, nor did he seem particularly intent on getting one. He cut through the spiders bodies with vicious swipes, leaving dozens of twitching legs on dead spiders in his wake. He hurled himself from foe to foe like each had somehow insulted him personally. The broadsword was covered in the bodily fluids of each spider. One particularly brave spider rushed him and knocked him down. Aveline moved from where she stood to rescue him but quickly retreated to the safety of the sidelines when he shoved his blade up through the belly. Even from the booth, Rees could hear the loud gush of spider goop and watched in horror as it drenched him.

"Preparing?" Bethany looked at her with alarm. She had picked up on Rees' meaning.

To the other end of the arena, Ser Medes finally went down. He cried for Aveline's rescue, waving his sword like a torch to ward off the circle of spiders that had surrounded him. The guardswoman slashed her way through unrepentantly, guiding the knight to safety. Ser Vincento had not slowed down. Only five or so spiders remained, but their focus was now entirely on him. If anything, the goop covered knight only seemed  _angry_.

"Yeah." Rees muttered under her breath, nodding ever so slightly.

Ser Vincento took down another two spiders with one large powerful swing. If he went down as well, Ser Gilbert would win by default. She wouldn't have the  _option_  of finding a name to appease her mother. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she felt cold. The black knight took down two more spiders and faced the last with a vicious snarl. To her side, Bethany looked pale.

"I… have been. Yes." Bethany replied cautiously.

With the last spider down, the knight slung his slime coated blade back over his shoulder and stalked his way to the unmarked rose bush plants. He ripped one of the flowers out indelicately and approached the booth. The crowd watched in complete silence. The knight more or less punched the wall of the booth and threw the flower down beneath Rees' feet. She couldn't see his eyes but she didn't need to to feel the malice. She swallowed thickly and decided.

"Tonight," she whispered, "I'm going to fulfill my promise. Meet me in the stables."


	11. Under the Cover of Moonlight

…

I

…

"You have some, uh…" Isabela gestured vaguely at his cheek. The gesture got broader and broader until she just went back to fiddling with her belt and avoiding Fenris' murderous gaze.

The elf had taken his helmet off as soon as they'd left the city limits. To say that spider slime covered him would have been an understatement. His hair was plastered to his skull with thick grime, and he felt it soaking his skin under the armour he had to wait to take off. The permanent scowl that had taken residence on his lips was only partially due to spite—the rest of it as an attempt in vain to keep the damned crap out of his mouth.

Isabela held his soaked gauntlets and boots as far from her body as she possibly could, often gagging whenever drops of the stuff hit the side of her thigh. They walked in a silence down the dirt path to the cottage leaving a trail of slime droplets and foot shaped ooze.

"Well," Isabela tried to break the tension for the umpteenth time. Fenris bored holes into the side of her head that she chose to ignore. "At least the princess doesn't seem to hate you."

"Don't."

"I'm just saying, it's an advantage to have royalty backing you—

" _Don't_."

"And while you weren't, uh, charming, you at least weren't Ser Gilbert." She made a face and shuddered. "I'm not sure what it takes to be a knight of Kirkwall, but they need to raise their standards. I swear the man spends half of his downtime slogging back ale and the other half hitting on poor sweet Norah—" She turned to shoot him a meaningful eyebrow waggle only to find that he'd stopped walking some ways back. He stood rigid on the path on high alert. He glanced over her way with fear spelled out clearly on his face. He drew his weapon silently and motioned for her to come closer.

She didn't get the chance.

The knife was on her throat before she could blink. A gauntlet spikey like Fenris' weaved around her waist to hold her hostage with a loud voice in her hear shouting something in Tevene. Not to be out-manuvered, Isabela slammed her elbow into the man's gut and shoved Fenris' slime covered gauntlets between the knife arm and her neck—spikes first. The man howled and stepped back giving her room to spin into a kick aimed at the man's chest. She threw the boots and gaunlets in Fenris' direction to have room to draw her blades.

The elf only barely had enough time to sling the gauntlets on before he was busy charging into the field where a mage was chanting something and slashing his blade deep into the man's gut. The chants were garbled with screams and gurgling blood. Isabela's daggers found the throat of the rogue just as fast and she wasted no time hurling a smoke bomb at the archer raising her bow behind him.

"Fenris, get down!" She shouted.

He looked back at her with wide eyes, not taking more than a second to hit the ground as fast as he could. An arrow sped through the air where his head had been. She charged over the body of the dead rogue towards the Tevinter archer slashing wildly. The soldier thrashed her bow to block Isabela's blows but could only keep up with her speed for so long. The tip of Isabela's curved dagger found the soft patch of skin beneath chin and neck and shoved upwards through her skull.

The smoke settled around her and Isabela's eyes scanned the dirt path for more soldiers in the ambush party. She spotted Fenris rising above the tall grass again to charge at another rogue who barely had time to take out their daggers before his blade sank into their shoulder and cut downwards with a sickening crunch. He was panting heavily, jerking the sword upward out of the still gagging soldier. Isabela cringed, wiping sweat and dust off her brow with the back of her arm.

"We need to move." Isabela's voice was stern. Fenris was staring at the body in the grass, mouth slightly opened and eyes glazed. He nodded a little but didn't seem to actually register the words. Without warning, he dropped down again. Isabela rushed through the grass, thinking he fainted, only to find him taking the daggers off the dead rogue's hands. He offered them to her. She shook her head. "Not curved enough for my style. Toss'em."

He frowned, but didn't stop unlatching the sheaths from the dead soldier's belt. She shoved at his shoulder irritably. "Did you not hear me? We need to move  _now_."

"We have to get rid of the bodies." His voice was steady, but only barely. He shoved her hand off his shoulder and slung the sheathed daggers in its place. "If someone finds them, it's a clear trail back to the cottage."

"Fuck the cottage!" Isabela snapped. "We're taking the first ship out of town tonight."

"I'm not running again." Fenris growled warningly. Isabela threw her hands up in the air.

"Yeah, it'll be awfully hard to run when you're  _dead_." She glowered at him. With the daggers safely on his shoulder, he sheathed his own blade and stood up to examine the damage.

"Start helping me move the bodies, start digging, or get out of my way."

"Are you  _insane_?" She shouted.

The elf whirled around to face her, fury dancing in his eyes. "You were right about the contest. I can stop running if I win. You get your gold. I can't outrun them like this forever. I  _won't_ run from them."

Isabela searched his face desperately, hoping he'd give up the idiotic endeavor. Fenris didn't even flinch. Her eyes fluttered closed with a sigh. She rolled her shoulders a few times and bent down to sling the dead rogue over her shoulders. "At least promise me," she lifted the body with a soft grunt, "that we can get out of town for the night. Just to throw them off your trail for a little bit, yeah?"

He made a noncommittal noise and stalked off to where the dead mage lay.

Dusk was settling in by the time they had brought the bodies back to Ser Vincento's cottage. The damp mud behind the stables made it easy to dig a mass grave. Before covering the bodies, Isabela lit a match and tossed it into the pit.  _To make them harder to identify_ , she said, but Fenris suspected it was also just cathartic. He let the flames burn for a few minutes before snuffing it out with a shovel full of dirt. Neither of them spoke a word as he covered up the bodies and smoothed over the surface. Isabela fetched the bottle of wine from the cottage and handed it to him wordlessly. His ears were pressed flat and down making the already harsh line of his brow seem harsher. He took a long pull, knuckles pressed white against the glass. She watched him closely but kept her distance. The daggers he'd taken were still slung over his shoulder.

"For Mora?" She asked gently.

He took another pull before looking at her. She gestured towards the weapons. He looked at the daggers on his shoulders like he didn't quite remember them. He nodded vacantly and took another long drink. Isabela reached her hand out towards the wine, not so much because she wanted a drink but to slow him down. He reluctantly passed it her way. She took a small sip.

"She'll be fine. We need to  _leave_." She knew she was pressing him hard, but this wasn't her first time giving someone the slip. The more of a head-start, the more likely it was to find success. He didn't move. "Fenris," she took a step closer. "You're a good trainer and friend but—"

"She will come here tonight. She always does. So will they. I will not let someone else die for my escape." His mouth was set in a grim line.

"Including me?" Isabela asked, but her tone wasn't serious. It got a small smirk out of him.

She took another few careful steps closer and took a seat next to him. She was already covered in blood and spider slime—a little mud wasn't going to make anything worse. The pirate patted the ground next to her and offered up the wine bottle. The elf slumped down in a tired heap. He looked weary. Green eyes were fixed on the grave like he was half convinced the corpses would rise from it to attack him again. Even slouched over like he was, the tension was visible from the clench of his jaw. It aged him considerably. He took the wine bottle again, clutching it like a sword.

Before he could bring it to his lips, the soft patter of hooves on the dirt path. His eyes snapped to the door of the stables, suddenly as alert as when he had cut down the Tevinter hunters. Isabela got to her feet faster with a quick wave of her hand to silently communicate  _stay here_. She didn't look back to see if he'd complied instead silently pulling a dagger to her side. She peeked around the corner, gold eyes sliding across the open plain and widening when she spotted Mora with a cloaked figure riding a ragged looking mule.

"Goose!" She shouted as she neared. "Goose, you in there?" Isabela kept her dagger out of sight but ready, stepping out into the moonlight. Mora greeted her with a smile. When Isabela did not return the gesture, her expression faltered. Mora looked the pirate over with concern, noting the blood and mud with surprise. "Everything alright, 'Bela? Where's Goose?"

Isabela watched her carefully, looking at the cloaked woman behind her. She had dark skin like Mora's, but dark hair, a rounder face and wide brown eyes. She was largely unremarkable save for the elaborate cloak obviously intended to hide her face. She watched Isabela with something akin to fear, clinging to Mora's back. There was a simple staff strapped to her back.  _Apostate_. Isabela sheathed the dagger silently and smiled tiredly at them both.

"Sorry, sweet thing. A bit of a rough day." She moved to help Mora steady her mount and helped both women down. She heard Fenris skulking out from the barn behind her. The cloaked woman's eyebrows shot up. Isabela watched her carefully. She muttered something to Mora and she turned bright red.

"Ah, uhm. Yes. Goose, this is my sister." She gestured at the cloaked girl. "Annie. Annie, this is my uh, trainer. Goose."

Fenris' eyes narrowed at the sight of the staff, but he nodded at Mora amicably.

"We have a bit of a favour to ask." Mora shuffled closer to them, leaving Annie by the tired animal. "We've had a rough day as well. Thinking a nice camping trip to Sundermount might clear our heads, y'know?"

It was an excuse and a poor one, but they looked to be in about as rough of shape as Isabela and Fenris felt. Neither party seemed interested in divulging more information on the subject. She heard Fenris shifting his weight back and forth, obviously unhappy about the idea. He wouldn't admit it, but his attachment to Mora was clear just from watching them train. Putting her in danger was not something he was going to agree to. But Sundermount wasn't a cake-walk. If they were going into hiding, they were going to need more than just luck. A healer would be a good start. She glanced at Annie's staff.

"Sounds great." Isabela said quickly, stepping in front of Fenris quickly and ignoring his furious look. "We could use a vacation."

…

II

…

Isabela and Goose had disappeared into the cottage to pack. A ruck-sack had already been slung over Stumpy's back in haste. Bethany leaned against the mule like he was a safety blanket. Hawke watched her sister carefully, trying to establish if the journey was thus far a success. Her heart hadn't stopped pounding since they'd left the stables. She'd tried to get Bethany into one of her old wigs and some smuggled peasant clothing, but her sister had turned the wig down in favour of a simple spell.  _Something harder to see through_ , she said confidently as she changed her face before Hawkes eyes. They had agreed on 'Annie' as her fake name, since it was close enough to Bethany that it wouldn't be hard to fake.

 _You're so lucky_ , Bethany had said.  _This comes easy to you. All you have to do is take your normal disguise off._

The comment had struck a chord with Rees. She hadn't thought of it that way before. But it was true. To be safe inside the castle walls, she had to become Audrianna. To be safe outside the castle walls, Bethany had to be Annie. Hawke was silent during their escape, wondering if there was ever going to be a place where the sisters could be both safe  _and_  honest.

She doubted it.

Goose emerged from the cottage with a bundle of items wrapped in a blanket. Most notable were the several bottle shaped pieces, but Hawke made no comment. He had washed up a bit, rinsing the grime and blood from his face and armour. It made a few cuts and bruises more obvious, even in the moonlight, as he packed the blanket of goods into the mule's ruck-sack. As she watched him, Bethany's comment from earlier bubbled up into her mind.  _You're right. His eyes_ are _beautiful._  Hawke felt the blood rush back to her face again and stared at the ground until it resided. She had said  _no such thing_. She had said  _green_. Which was true, they were. She chanced another look. Very,  _very_  green. She swallowed and looked down again.

Bethany nudged her with a giggle. She shot her sister a glare. Goose looked up from his packing job, giving Hawke a confused look. She coughed a little and shrugged pretending not to know what was going on. Pretending that she hadn't spent that morning telling her sister about his hair, eyes and  _muscles_.

This was going to be a long walk.

Her sister seemed to be overcoming her fears, now that she was seeing Hawke's trainer in person. She wandered closer to Stumpy and offered a hand with the packing. Goose ignored her. Bethany cleared her throat a little and moved to take a piece of bread from his pack. Without warning, Goose slapped her hand away and shot her a murderous look. Bethany yelped and fell back. Hawke swooped in between Goose and her sister faster than she would have thought possible before Isabela's lessons in footwork.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She demanded. Goose huffed, but otherwise chose not to respond. " _Hey_. I'm talking to you. Why the  _fuck_  did you attack my  _sister_?"

"You brought a  _mage_  to my home and expected a warm welcome." He snarled the words so sharply that Rees actually took a step back. She spread her arms a little as if to shield Bethany from him. Even in their most intense sessions she had never seen so much hatred in his eyes. The green she had been admiring before was suddenly threatening and all too intense. He scowled at her for a good long minute before deciding to stalk off towards the cottage for more supplies. Isabela passed him on the way back, glancing between the furious elf and Hawke with a look of mild surprise.

"What, did you finally reject him?" Isabela asked blandly.

Hawke watched his retreat. "What? I—no. He doesn't seem to care for mages."

Isabela's eyes widened in understanding. "Ah. Yeah. Hadn't thought of that." When Hawke shot her a befuddled look she shrugged and put a hand up. "It's… complicated. I don't know the details and I'm not sure he'd tell me if I asked. You know how he is."

"Apparently not." Hawke grumbled. Behind her, Bethany looked like she'd somehow become smaller. Normally bright blue eyes were sad and brown. Even with the fake face she was somehow still a monster to someone. A pang of hurt cut through Hawke's heart like glass. This was supposed to be the great wide world Bethany so wanted to see. This was the adventure she had promised, and already Bethany's fears had been confirmed. Hawke wouldn't have it. She put a hand on Bethany's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "You'll be safe with me, Annie. I promise. You've nothing to be ashamed of."

They packed in tense silence. Anger radiated from Goose like heat waves cutting through the cold. He did not meet any of their eyes and led the mule towards the mountain path without so much as a warning. The three of them walked behind his lead warily, Bethany still looking for all the world like she was about to cry. Isabela seemed to make it her personal mission to break the tension after a while by squeezing herself between Hawke and Bethany with a grin and mumbling something about hot sisters being a commodity at The Hanged Man, and that Goose should've been more appreciative. It got a small giggle out of Bethany.

Her sister looked at the hand Isabela had draped over her shoulder, noticing a few scratches and bruises. "I can fix those for you," She offered in earnest. "If, well. If you're comfortable with that. I could always mix up a potion when we set camp, but magic is quicker."

Goose scoffed loudly from the front of the group. Hawke glared daggers at the back of his head, silently seething still over his earlier attack. Isabela was kind enough to pretend not to notice. "You go right ahead, sweet thing." She offered out her hand to Bethany. "If you're anything like Mora then I'm sure you're quite talented."

Bethany beamed at her proudly. A soft yellow glow spread from her fingertips onto Isabela's skin for maybe two or three seconds before all hell broke loose. Goose spun around with an expression like lightning and had his sword pointed at Bethany's throat in a matter of seconds. Hawke shoved Isabela and Bethany behind her on instinct alone, the tip of the blade inches from her neck. Grey eyes stared down green ones as Bethany spluttered out broken apologies.

"Hush, sister. You did nothing wrong." Hawke assured her, not moving from where she stood. Goose had the decency to look somewhat bothered by Rees being in the way, but did not drop the weapon.

"I will not let that  _thing_  endanger us all." He spat at Hawke's feet. She took a step forward until the blade touched her neck. He watched her carefully.

" _You will not touch her_." Hawke's voice came out evenly filled with the confidence that only came with quiet fury. "I will be cold in the ground before I let harm come to my sister." She felt Bethany tug at her wrist and whisper for her to step back please,  _please_ , but she wouldn't budge. Goose snorted, but sheathed the weapon.

"You are lucky to have a sister so foolishly brave,  _abomination_." He made the mistake of turning around. Something in Hawke snapped and she took the sticks out of her own pack. She rushed up behind him and thwacked him  _hard_  on the shoulder.

Goose turned around and stared at her disbelievingly.

Hawke scowled and crouched like Isabela had taught her. Behind her, she heard the pirate whisper something to Bethany and guide her to the mule's side with silent steps. They quickly advanced into the mountain path to leave Goose behind with Hawke. She heard her sister protest but thankfully was hushed by Isabela.

"You would fight me,  _Mora_?" He sneered at her like the notion was preposterous. He drew his very real weapon again and walked around her like he always did when he was looking for an opening. All too aware that she was armed only with bits of wood, Hawke swallowed thickly. But she did not back down. Audrianna Amell would have backed down. Rees Hawke did not.

"I would kill you before I let you hurt a hair on my sister's head." The words escaped her lips with a low rumble in the back of her throat. Goose's sneer vanished in an instant replaced by surprise and something else she could not put her finger on. She steeled herself as he stilled, blade drooping a little. With a soft thud, he dropped the weapon and the satchel around his shoulders to the dirt. He rushed at her bare fisted.

She side stepped and slashed with her sticks, knocking his blows to the side. He aimed a kick at her torso and she ducked, sweeping a blow at his knees. He hopped away from the sticks without much difficulty, then charged at her shoulder first with a jarring cry. She stayed still until the last second. Closing her eyes and remembering Isabela's guidance, she twisted around him and aimed an elbow at the back of his head. He caught it and twisted it behind her.

Hawke yelped and wriggled. Goose pressed uncomfortably into the muscle until she buckled forward onto her knees. Wild panic beating under her skin, Hawke jerked herself painfully from his grasp, only to find herself flat on the ground like the day she'd first come to him for training. His hand had hers pinned above her head, legs closed around her own so she couldn't budge. Their noses just inches apart, so close that the tips of his hair brushed against her forehead.

Only this time, Hawke's other hand had a dagger pressed against his stomach. She twisted it meaningfully.

"Are you going to impale me with your stick, Mora?" Something in his wry smile was bitter. She felt his breath hot on her face, his low voice thrumming vibrations against where she pressed. She took a deep breath.

"Not if I don't have to, Goose." Hawke answered quietly. "Is this going to be a problem?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. Watched his expression shift slowly into tiredness. He let go of her wrist and rolled off of her, back hitting the ground softly. He stared up at the sky with an oddly pained expression. Hawke still kept her stick gripped by her stomach. She felt her heartbeat pounding in her ears and felt herself let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding. She watched him lift a hand up above his face, the markings glowing softly against the pitch black around them. He was silent for a few moments.

"These markings," he struggled to find the right words, "were forced upon me. With magic."

"So you blame my sister?" She retorted. He scowled.

"I blame  _magic_. It comes with a thirst for power and  _nothing_  to stop you from having it. From  _taking_  it." He hissed the words like it hadn't been the first time he'd said it. Hawke quieted, looking at the markings with the same intensity he did. She brought her own hand up to trace them lightly. He winced and she pulled her hand away.

"They… hurt?" She asked quietly. He didn't answer. He didn't have to. She felt a small bubble of guilt forming beneath her ribs and stubbornly ignored it. "I understand your caution but I still will not allow you to threaten my sister. Do you understand?"

He lowered his hand to his chest. She turned her head to face him, watching the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. He looked back at her. Again Hawke was struck by how close they were. It would've been so easy to scoot just a little closer and close the distance. Her heart sped up again, mind reeling at the notion.  _It's not like that_ , she reassured herself.  _It can't be like that._

Before she had the time to chew out the thought, he had pushed himself off the ground. He walked towards the satchel he had dropped with deliberate steps, searching for something. Hawke heard metal clinking and sat up to watch what he was doing. He considered the items in his hands carefully, like he was unsure of his actions.

The elf came back to her with two small daggers in his hands, sheathed in leather casings with strange marks on them. He sat in front of her and placed them in her reach, nudging them towards her. Hawke stared at the weapons, not comprehending. He puffed out a breath and took one of the spike shaped daggers from its sheath, and placed the hilt in her palm. He closed his hand around hers until she gripped the weapon. He let go. She looked at him incredulously.

"You threatened my sister's life, then  _mine_ ," she said slowly, "fought me until I had a stick to your gut, and then give me a weapon that I could  _actually hurt you with_?"

He laughed. It was a new sound from him. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading on her own face.

"I am not very skilled in having… friends." He pointedly avoided eye-contact. "I've been told I can be hostile." Hawke snorted. He ignored her and continued. "But I trust you, Mora. I will travel with your sister."

Hawke nodded at him in understanding. She looked down at the daggers again. Her daggers. Her very own weapons. She sheathed the dagger he had placed in her hand like it was made of porcelain, tracing the designs on the hilt with wonder in her eyes. He looked pleased. He opened his mouth again to speak, but was interrupted by a sharp scream.

Bethany's scream.

…

…

Ohhh my gosh you guys. It is nearly 2am and I'm going to have to cut this chapter off here. It's already twice my normal length and I'm not even halfway through with what I've got planned. Plus, I've got a long drive home tomorrow, so. Sleep is a thing I need. Forgive me for the cliffhanger. And any typos (of which I'm sure there are numerous).

And I'm not sure how to express clearly how much glee each review gives me. Like if I could bake a cake with all of them, I totally would. LoquaciousQuark and NightlyRowenTree, you guys give me life with your reviews on every update. And everyone else that reviews occasionally, I literally squeal with joy each time I get a notification. Seriously, I sit here pathetically refreshing and waiting for the approval of strangers on the internet. It's truly pathetic. And thank you Nebulad as always for letting me bounce ideas off you at bizzare hours of the night. I hope you find your sub sandwich.


	12. A Truth for a Truth

Goose was yelling something but Hawke didn't hear him. She was sprinting up the mountain path, eyes locked on the yellow and red bursts of light ahead. She heard Bethany's cries and the clink of blades. The daggers she'd received as a gift no more than a minute prior had shed their sheaths somewhere in the path behind her. She gripped the hilts tight trying not to think about a lack of armour. She flung herself around the corner only barely keeping her balance.

More than ten or so men in strange red robes with pointed hats and odd symbols were attacking. Isabela and Bethany were back to back, Isabela shouting orders and constantly maneuvering to keep them both out of range of the archers. Bethany's staff was glowing a brilliant bright white. She was pale and shaky, but her eyes were focused. With a spin of her staff and a sweep of her hand, she knocked down a row of approaching shieldsmen.

Hawke didn't wait to take in more details. She ducked behind the line of men between her and her sister, stepping softly until she was behind a mage. She mistakenly rushed some footwork and felt the snap of a twig beneath her boot before she even heard it. Fear took over and she plunged he new spikes into the man's back. The bone of his shoulders scraped beneath the metal points and made a horrid jagged sound to accompany his scream. Blood flooded ont her blades, one snagged beneath the buckles of his coat. She wanted to scream with him, twisting the knife and yanking frantically. Hawke felt the eyes of their attackers turn to her and her heart threatened to break out of her ribcage. Knife still caught underneath the screaming mage's skin, she grabbed it with both hands, placed a boot square in the middle of his back and pulled.

Skin ripped. More blood gushed out slick onto her hands. Rees gagged, keeling over onto her knees and taking huge coughing gulps of air. Her lungs expanded wildly in her chest and she had no room for her stomach. In front of her the man lay seizing on the dirt, his legs unnervingly still compared to the horrible moans coming from his mouth. There was a man with a sword shouting something at her in a language she did not understand. He was charging at her, shield out first and the pointed tip of a longsword peeking behind it. She saw it coming but she couldn't move.

With a blinding flash of iridescent blue, Goose had knocked the man down. He plunged a glowing blue fist past the soldier's armour, snarled something low and predatory, then ripped. Hawke was aware of her mouth sagging open and the wetness on her cheeks. She was aware of Goose shouting at her, trying to get her to move from where she knelt. She wanted to ask him about the glow, about how he moved so quickly but sound wasn't coming from her chest anymore.

"Sister! Please!" Bethany shrieked. Hawke's eyes snapped up.

Bethany was backed against the a ledge that tumbled down to the jagged rocks of the Waking Sea. Her staff was flashing out waves of fire and ice, but more men with shields kept approaching. If her magic was hurting them, they didn't show it.

Hawke was moving again. She danced through the battlefield with vicious slashes, feet finding all the right crevices. She watched numbly as her blood coated hands sliced through throats and slammed into thighs like they were training dummies. She felt Goose at her back, fending off blows. He felt different, like he was crackling with cold energy. He roared as he swung, knocking back attackers in waves. Seeing her opportunity, Hawke twisted past the wall of attackers, ducking beneath arrows and sharp blades alike. Fury burned in her gut as she raced towards the soldiers trying to use their shields to sweep Bethany off a cliff.

She jumped high and sank her daggers into the middle man's collarbone, twisting and pulling until his neck was red and his eyes were staring blankly at the sky above. The man to the left had made the mistake of wanting to see his enemies-leaving an open slot in his helmet for Hawke to slide her blade into. A hard metal shield cracked into her back and the screams around her came flooding back with the addition of her own. She twisted her knife from the gurling soldier and tried to get her footing back. There wasn't enough space on the ledge. She heard Bethany scream again but couldn't look. The soldier that had cornered her was on his knees, falling limply to to ground. Behind him stood Isabela for only a second. An arrow's bolt cut clean through the pirate's shoulder and she howled with pain. Her daggger dropped to the ground. Hawke shoved herself back onto shaky feet, feeling the adrenaline leave her blood and only the moans of the dead or dying to welcome her back to reality. The archer was too far away for her to reach in time. Another mage stood behind him.

"Fenris," the mage bellowed with a cruel sneer curled on his face. "Your master requires your presence. Surrender and we shall find a mercy more palatable to your friends' tastes."

The glowing blue ghost that had been dancing around the battlefield came to a screeching halt. Goose stood stock still, eyes frantically finding Hawke, Isabela and Bethany. Behind the mage, two more archers drew their bows. One pointed at Bethany's head, another at Isabela's back to where she'd already fallen to the ground. The last tip was aimed where Hawke crouched, her blood drenched hands and daggers getting rapidly more chilled on the night air. Goose looked horrified, frozen in place. The mage seemed to like this. He raised a hand up and, with a great gust of wind, slammed Goose down face first into the ground.

"Your master was foolish to let you out of his sight, little wolf." The mage walked calmly towards Goose. Fenris. Hawke's mind was reeling. "He will not be so kind next time."

Hawke looked desperately at Isabela, but she was losing blood fast. Even with an arrow pointed at her back, she couldn't stop the shudders of pain. Hawke looked at Bethany and found her sister's eyes steeled, her knuckles white on her staff. Her jaw was set and her free hand was weaving small circles in the air, just out of the sightline of the strange men. She caught her older sister's eye and winked.

A flash of blue surrounded the three of them in the shape of a bubble. The archers released their arrows but they bounced off. Hawke leapt to her feet and charged. Goose-Fenris-lunged at the mage. The glow returned to his arms again but Hawke was too preoccupied to watch. She darted between the archers artfully remembering Isabela's steps. One blade blocked the swings of their bows while the other darted beneath to puncture their chests and guts. Hawke snarled, "Can't fight if you can't breathe."

The archers dropped one by one, dead before they hit the ground. Bethany set fire to the ones Hawke wasn't quick enough to shred. By the time she turned around, she saw Fenris elbow deep in the mage's chest. He had lifted the man off the ground, somehow phasing through robes and skin to pull him up by his innards. The mage gasped and clawed at his wrist, eyes so wide Hawke thought they might fall out.

Fenris' voice was a low growl. His teeth were bared and the blue glow of his tattoes lit up his face in harsh lines. "I have no master."

A sickening crunch filled the chilled air. The mage slumped to the ground lifelessly-not even a twitch. The heart Fenris clutched in his spiked gauntlet still beat enough to spray the dead man's blood. He clenched his fist and the soft tissue squelched in his hands until the pulverized remains slipped to the back of the mage the organ came from. Hawke couldn't look away. Fenris looked at her and his expression softened. A flash of fear crossed his features. Hawke swallowed hard.

Hearing Bethany scramble to Isabela's side broke her reverie. She dropped her daggers and tore her eyes away from the elf. Bethany was already kneeling by the pirate, pouring magic into her shoulder. Hawke tore off some of the fabric on her own tunic, intending to wrap it around the wound. Instead, Bela grabbed it with her uninjured arm, and shoved the fabric between her teeth. She shot Bethany a meaningful look and nodded before tightly closing her eyes. The muscle in Bethany's jaw danced. Hawke watched helplessly as her sister gripped the arrow. She broke the shaft off before the barbed end, ignoring Isabela's cry. Then without giving her time to breathe, Bethany pulled the rest of the arrow out by the head. Isabela made a sound that was inhuman and curled further into herself on the ground. Bethany hushed her, pushing soothing waves of warm light over her shoulder.

"Is… Is she going to be alright?" Hawke asked quietly. Bethany didn't spare her a look, but nodded nonetheless.

"Give me a half an hour, and go find some elfroot. I can do most of it from here." Her sister's hands spread skillfully over the wound. The bleeding had already slowed to a stop in the soft glow.

Hawke stood up slowly. She felt for all the world like she was just on the verge of waking up from a particularly terrible dream. Fenris. The name tasted funny in her mouth. The tattoos that had been forced on him by mages made more sense when the word master was tacked on. The elf was bent over where she had dropped her daggers. He was cleaning them against his sleeve carefully. With the amount of blood already drenching his armour, it was a feat of its own to not be adding blood to the blades. She approached him and didn't mask her footsteps. She saw his ears twitch but he didn't turn around. First, he stood up again. He paused as though unsure as to whether or not to give the blades back or run with them. When he did turn to face her, his eyes were uncharacteristically locked on the ground.

"Your blades, Mora. Though I would suggest finding the sheaths. Without them, the blades will rust." His voice was low and quiet. She took the blades gently, studying his face. He did not give her much of a chance, instead moving to start wordlessly throwing the bodies off the cliff into the icy black waters below.

Hawke focused on bringing her sister patches of elfroot leaves to crush and place on Isabela's tongue. Her moaning slowed to a stop, and before long, the pirate even cracked a joke about elfroot tasting like elf  _ass_. She could sit up, but was still cradling her arm. Bethany scolded her quietly when she tried to move.

"Since I'm not going to be much use tonight," Isabela told them, "it looks like the oh so pleasurable task of gathering firewood is-"

"Complete." Fenris returned from his trips to the cliffsides with driftwood thick enough to build a small shed. He still avoided Hawke's gaze. Isabela forced a laugh.

"Well done, Goose." She used the name sharply. Had Hawke not been listening for it, she wouldn't have heard the over annunciation. She watched him drop the pile of wood near the center of the now blood streaked clearing. Isabela continued, "I'm not sure what we'd do without all those rippling muscles."

"Peace, Isabela." He said. "What's done is done."

Hawke cleared her throat and summoned the courage she was running low on. "Uh. Goose, I dropped my sheaths somewhere along the way." He did not look up at her, but nodded in understanding. "Would you come with me to help me find them?"

Isabela looked between the two of them. Hawke fidgetted and spun the daggers slowly between her fingers. When he walked past her towards the path, she could see the tiredness sunken into his features. Hawke followed him only a few paces behind.

His shoulders were caved inward, like he was actively trying to make himself smaller. Hands gripped and released open air every now and then. The cold air showed his breath coming out in small clouds, uneven and ragged. Even after the battle light poured through the tattoos in his skin. They looked more like cracks between him and a different world, shining unevenly and pulsing like they lived separate from him.

"Goose-"

"Do not play games with me, Mora." He interrupted her sharply.

She grimaced. "I… don't know what to call you."

He turned around abruptly. "Call me by my name. There is no sense pretending you do not know it." Where Hawke expected fire in his eyes there was only apathy. His gaze was cold and intense. He did not stay put long, his eyes falling back to the dirt path again to look for the leather sheaths.

"Fenris," She spoke quietly. He stilled. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she possibly could say. No amount of apologies could distract from the violent white snakes embedded in his skin. Still, he listened. She continued, "You are a free man."

"I know." The words sounded thick.

"And I will fight whoever I need to if it keeps you that way." She let the words spill out before she could regret them. He knelt down in the dirt path, plucking the sheathes from under an embrium bush. The elf ran a hand through his hair. When he stood to hand them to her, she took a step forward to meet him. Her mouth opened again but a sharp look cut her off.

"You will do no such thing." He handed her the sheaths. Her brows furrowed.

"Excuse me?" Hawke's eyes narrowed.

"I said  _you will do no such thing_ ," he repeated, biting out each word, He glared. "I do not require your pity."

Hawke scoffed loudly. "Pity?" She grinned at him. "What else would I have? I kicked your  _ass_  out there."

His eyes widened in surprise before his expression softened just momentarily. His normal smug smile returned. She tucked the daggers into their sheaths and strapped them to her belt. She turned around in a circle, admiring the new look.

"Nice gifts, by the way." She took the weapons out experimentally, slashing through thin air before returning them to position. He gave her a small approving nod. "Just in time, I'd say. Couldn't have stolen your thunder without them."

"My thunder?" His smile broadened just a little.

"Mmhm. When exactly were you planning on telling me you could  _phase through solid objects_?" She couldn't help it. Her eyes lit up with excitement. She mimicked his stance and clawed through the air, feigning ripping the heart out of the mage. Fenris laughed at that, the last bit of tension easing from his shoulders. She slung her arm around his shoulders and dragged them back towards the campsite. Bethany had a small fire flickering in the wood pile and was placing stones around it. Isabela's arm was in a makeshift sling from the piece of Hawke's tunic. She was trying to gently coax Stumpy out from the small cavern in the side of the mountain.

"If someone with two arms could maybe lend a hand," She shouted at them irritably as they returned, "then perhaps we won't lose the five bottles of wine I packed. Very  _expensive_  wine."

…

II

…

It took approximately two hours, one full bottle of potent wine, and a warm bonfire to have Isabela completely forget about her injured shoulder. She danced merrily to her own songs, stamping her feet on the ground and spinning to avoid the mage's concerned tittering. Annie was whining something or other about stretched ligaments but the pirate did not care. She grabbed the girl's hand and swung her into an intricate spin. She squeaked in surprise, robes and cloak spinning out behind her prettily. Even with the sparse amount of wine Isabela had coaxed into her, Annie's cheeks were already flushed a bright red. The mage laughed despite herself, still warning Isabela against permanent injury and general rowdiness. The warnings fell on deaf ears.

Fenris' own ears were flushed to the tip, the bottle in his own hands nearly half drained. He watched Mora cut in on the dance, taking Annie's hands the same way she'd taken his the night they'd spun circles around the training post. The sisters laughed loudly as they fumbled their steps, passing Annie between them both. Annie switched easily between the two different styles with grace. Mora reached a hand out to him, grinning. He took another long pull from the wine bottle, cringing as it burned going down. The stuff was truly foul. But perhaps it would help him feel more ammenable to another dance with Mora.

Not that the idea was repulsive to begin with. She guided his hands the way she had in the stables, only slipping up a couple time. She laughed and he couldn't help but laugh with her. She always gave him a peculiar look when he did, like he was two-headed griffon. Taking advantage of her surprise, Fenris took the lead. He moved them quickly around the fireplace to Isabela's sailing song, mimicking the motions the pirate and the mage made. Mora adapted to the routine speedily-something that never failed to blow him away. No matter how complicated the footwork he taught her, or how viciously they sparred, she learned. She knew his steps better than he did and picked up the slack where he swayed with wine, grasping his hand tight.

Firelight and shadow danced across her features, strings of silver hair lighting up gold. It was mussed from the earlier fight. Without thinking, he reached up to smooth her bangs to the side, She watched him with those grey eyes, somehow managing to radiate warmth from where she had so coldly cut down his attackers earlier. Isabela's song hit a crescendo, Annie clapping and stomping to keep the beat. Mora spun around him with the footwork he'd taught her, looking as light on her feet as the pirate but with all the violence of his own style. He hardly realized he was staring until the dance stopped. She was pressed close to his chest and had a bright grin spread across her features. They stepped appart hastily. The wine drew a giggle from her chest that she tried to hide with a hand over her lips.

"Well done, city-folk!" Isabela cheered drunkenly. She pointed at Fenris, "and you manged not to stab anyone while dancing! I'm proud!"

Fenris gave the pirate a gracious bow. The sisters laughed.

"One more, one more!" Isabela insisted. "I know this great one about the Hero of Fereldan-"

A chorus of  _no_  rang through the group, sending Isabela into another fit of laughter. She fell back on her ass, grabbing her already empty wine bottle from where it sat near the fire and tipped it over her open mouth, loudly complaining when not a single drop was left.

"Perhaps you should let the wine down and get some rest for that shoulder," Annie hinted gently with a smile on her face.

"Nonsense, Sunshine. Didn't you know that wine is the best potion?" Isabela held the bottle aloft with a dramatic flourish.

Annie collapsed to the ground beside her, giggling. She had her own wine bottle close behind. Fenris watched in amusement as the pirate snaked the bottle from the younger sister's grasp to steal another sip before Annie noticed it was missing. That earned her a whole new round of scoldings, though she could hardly stop giggling.

"Since you're all going to be boring and won't dance, lets play a game!" Isabela's eyes flickered to him mischeviously. "Fenris and Mora here have a game already that would work nicely. A truth for a truth, isn't it?"

Mora sat down next to him having retrieved her own bottle and promptly slugged him in the shoulder. He yelped and scowled at her. The rogue glared right back. "You told Isabela my truths? What happened to all that cryptic secrecy?"

"I did not." He insisted indignantly. Red crept up the side of his neck. "She merely witnessed our-"

"Daaaancing," Isabela sing-songed. "Dancing in the moonlight of the stables. Would've been very romantic if Mora hadn't bolted."

He felt Mora's gaze on him beside him and quickly busied himself with another pull of wine. Or two. Or  _three_. Annie let out some detestable cooing. He scowled, refusing to check and see if his friend had reacted similarly. He took another swig for confidence, noting the perilously low levels of wine remaining. "The pirate wouldn't let it drop until I told her it was just part of a game. I told her nothing else, Mora."

He watched her frown lessen out of the corner of his eye, probably stealing glances less subtly than he thought he was. She seemed appeased and leaned back onto the rock behind them both. The heat from her body radiated just enough to touch his back from where he slouched forward. Leaning back closer would have been dangerous.

"So the game-?" Annie ventured.

"Yes!" Isabela swung the empty wine bottle enthusiastically. She pointed the mouth end at Fenris and Mora. "I've been forced to conclude that we are currently uneven. This will be rectified. So we will each tell one truth—no interruptions or questions—and drink until we cannot continue."

Mora laughed, "That will be a short game, Bela."

The pirate waved a hand at her. "Nonsense. And for such insolence, your sister will pay." She slung her arm messily around Annie's shoulders and tugged to poor girl practically across her bosom. "You're up first, sweet thing!"

Annie wriggled her head away and immediately went to fixing her hair. She hummed and tsked while she carefully re-wove her braid. Her hair was much darker than Mora's. Much neater. Each strand shone just a little too brightly. She glanced around the circle nervously. "Well," she looked down at her hair. "Once, I wanted to be just like, um. Well just like Mora. So I cut all my hair off with scissors."

"I remember that!" Mora sat forward in a rush. "Mother was furious!"

Isabela looked mortified. She leaned over on Annie's shoulder, running her fingers through the girl's hair. "How could you ever want to be without such beautiful hair?" The pirate looked like she was in mourning. Annie giggled.

Fenris leaned over to whisper to Mora, "I'll bet you a sovereign that Isabela passes out within the hour."

Mora grinned and nudged his shoulder with his. "You're on."

Fenris made a big show of taking another drink of wine, motioning for Isabela to do the same. "A drink to honour the truth." Isabela loved the idea and stole the bottle from Annie's hand to join in. Mora shot him a glare but she was smiling. He feigned innocence. "What?"

"That's cheating."

"Oh, and it's reserved only for rogues?" He said. She laughed at that.

He hadn't made her laugh so much before. He could see the traces of bruises around her jaw and neck from the rough falls she'd taken earlier and wondered how many similar marks he'd made during training. She caught him staring and he quickly pretended to be focused on the game at hand.

"Isabela, I believe it is your turn." He said. The pirate cheered.

"Good! Cause I've got a good one." She sat up to set the scene, hands mimicking the waves of an ocean. "Once upon a time, on a boat far too small for my tastes, I had a  _husband_."

"You did  _not_." Annie loudly protested.

"Did too!" Isabela returned. "Not for long, though." She laughed. "A dashing rogue like our dear Mora helped me get rid of him."

Annie's eyes bulged. "You mean you—"

"I didn't kill him, sweet thing." Isabela pet her hair fondly. " _Zevran_  did. Then we had the most passionate, kinkiest—"

"That's enough Isabela!" Mora intervened before her sisters' face actually caught on fire from her blushing. "Let someone else have a turn, yeah?"

"Alright," the pirate backed off with a cheesy grin. "I believe you just volunteered."

Mora pushed her hands on her knees, pretending to get up but Fenris beat her to it. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder and held her firmly in place. She shot a look of surprise his way, but acquiesced and leaned against him for support again. She hummed like her sister while she thought and drew small spirals in the mud between their feet. When the idea hit her, it rumbled through her entire body like an electric shock. Her lips parted in a gasp, messy silver hair flicked out of her eyes with the back of her hand, and the glow of the firelight found its mirror beneath long grey lashes. Her gestures were broad and dramatic as she retold the story. She made faces and voices for each vendor, for each guard. The distant look that almost always clouded her gaze was replaced by a sharp clarity. Fenris was mesmerized.

"…and  _that's_  how I won Hector from some poor sailor when I was twelve!" She finished with a mock bow. Mora looked at him to see his reaction, those sharp grey eyes focusing on him. The flush of wine touched her cheeks prettily. He felt his heart skip a beat before he offered a small encouraging. She looked pleased.

"Not that you could ever possibly top that," Isabela loudly declared, turning her attention to him, "but it is your turn, handsome."

"Handsome, am I?" He joked. He did  _not_  expect Mora to mumble  _I'd say so_  under her breath. When he looked at her in shock, her face burned bright red and she was suddenly intensely in the designs she was carving into the mud. He could not have stopped the smug grin from taking over his face if he tried. Returning his attention to Isabela and Annie he said, "Fine.  _Ego fluens in Tevene_."

Mora stared at him slack jawed. Isabela could not contain herself and flung her torso into Bethany's lap with an exaggerated swoon. He felt his ears burning and quickly finished off the rest of his wine. Annie clapped for him across the fire. "Say something else!" She cried. Isabela raised her empty wine bottle in agreement.

" _Tu terriblisis gustus in vinum_ ," he paused, enjoying Mora's expression, before translating. "You have terrible taste in wine."

Annie and Isabela were already doing impressions with fits of giggling. Isabela would say something utterly filthy with a Tevinter accent and Annie would melt into a pile of embarrassment. It only furthered the pirate's glee—especially when Annie didn't understand  _why_  something was dirty.

"That is certainly… impressive." Mora formed the words carefully and quietly beside him. The red in her cheeks had faded a bit, which was a shame. She played with her half full wine bottle in both hands, swishing it back and forth.

"Thank you," he said. "There are not many things as pleasurable as impressing a beautiful woman."

The red came flooding back. He grinned. She took a rather large pull from the bottle, suddenly looking quite nervous. He lifted a brow at her and waited. With as much delicacy as she could, she placed the bottle back on the rocky mud.

"Does it bother you that I know your name?" She asked quietly. He blinked at her a couple times.

"I suppose it makes it easier for you to betray me, but I doubt that you will. Besides," He paused, suddenly unsure. The fire before them was dying down without Isabela's upkeep and the pirate was snoring loudly on the mage's lap. Annie was playing with her hair with half-lidded eyes herself. Mora shifted closer with a shiver. He wrapped an arm around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Besides," he said. "Fenris is the name I was given. I do not know my birth name." Mora watched him like she was waiting for something, eyes studying every aspect of him. He swallowed. "But no, it does not bother me, Mora. I trust you."

She looked genuinely surprised, then pleased, then sad. It was an odd shift of expressions. He tilted his head to follow her eyes where she looked downward again. She pursed her lips and scrunched up her nose. It was the face she made before they sparred.

"Hawke." She said so quietly it was almost a whisper. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She spoke a little louder. "Rees Hawke."

When it finally sank in, it hit him like lightning. Hawke. Her name was Rees Hawke. It fit her so perfectly. Sharp and predatory with the threat of a knife around the edges. He stared at her wordlessly. Her chin jutted out proudly like she'd been waiting to say the words out loud for a while, but her breathing was still quick. Her eyes flickered to his nervously waiting for a reaction. For him to say something, anything.

Fenris pulled her face to his and kissed her softly. Her eyes fluttered shut and suddenly her hands were on his jaw, in his hair, pulling him closer like she couldn't breathe. The arm he had wrapped around her found grip in her waist as he leaned into her. When she pulled away he was breathless.

"Rees Hawke," he said the words like they were precious. He glanced over to the other side of the fire to see Annie and Isabela asleep in a warm pile. "I believe you owe me a sovereign."

 


	13. The Morning After

…

I

…

The cold morning air woke her up. Hawke's feet, previously warmed by the fire, felt like ice. Something large and warm was draped around her to keep her torso warm. She snuggled in closer, weaving her fingers through the hand on her chest and holding it close. She tucked her legs between the legs behind her, relishing the warm breath pressing softly on the back of her neck. She stayed there cloaked in warmth while she slowly blinked back into wakingness. The first thing she saw was the hand she had nestled into, a thumb with a soft white glowing streak through it rubbed gentle patterns on the back of her hand. She watched it confusedly, staring at the strange thumb. The hand attached was full of similar markings, twisting and curving harshly deep into olive toned skin. The glow was simultaneously sharp and comforting. Another gentle breath touched the back of her neck and she remembered.

 _Fenris_.

Memories from the night before flooded back into the front of her mind. Dancing with him by the fire, telling him her name, and the kiss. Dread crept in her belly like a spider, clawing its way to where his hand held hers. She must have fallen asleep on him. Again. Hawke realized with horror that he probably hadn't even meant the kiss as anything other than drunken escapades; he certainly must not have planned to have an armful of drunk Hawke. She wanted to spit and curse on her sleep filled decision to tangle herself further with the warrior. There was no graceful way out of the predicament that didn't wake him up. Casual then, she thought. No big deal. We're still just friends. Her heart pounded painfully at the notion and she ignored it. Whatever she may have wanted, it wasn't why she was here-and she wasn't going to take advantage of his drunken kiss. The more she thought on it, she couldn't remember who started it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled herself and went for it. She tried to pull away in one swift motion but with his arm around her she ended up all but throwing it back at his chest. Hawke cringed as his eyes opened to look at her. Something like hurt and confusion crossed his features as he sat up. Hawke's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as she watched him scramble to find distance. He quickly and wordlessly averted his gaze, pretending to be occupied with pulling on his slim armour and tending to the remainders left by the bonfire of the night before. She stared wistfully as he scattered the ashes, a great longing tugging at her warring with feeling like she should apologize. Instead, she focused on finding her daggers. The pattern was burned into the leather, charring the dark brown into a crisp shiny black. It looked like a symbol for a dragon with its wings spread and a long winding tail coiled around the tip of the weapon. She ran her fingers over the design briefly allowing herself a moment of self-pity at the loss of Fenris' trust. She would get it back, she knew, but she had a promise to keep to Bethany first.

Her sister lay bundled on the ground in one of the many blankets Isabela had packed. The mule was curled up behind the mage and the pirate. Her sister's face was scrunched up in stern concentration. A red flush crossed her nose and cheeks where the cold air bit hardest. Even in her sleep the glimmer she'd cast remained true to form. The edges of her features moved oddly when the light shifted, but it was only noticeable if you were looking for it. She'd rounded her face to look more like Rees and darkened her skin. Her lips were thicker and eyelashes a bit longer. She looked more like Malcom like this, even with the soft brown hair that cascaded around her face and shoulders. Hawke gently pushed the bangs out of her sister's face. Bethany's nose twitched as she yawned, pulling an arm out of Isabela's grasp. The pirate grumbled something unintelligible, blue bandana crooked on her head. Bethany's eyes opened slowly and for just a split second they were the soft blue Hawke recognized. A warm brown filled in over the top like watery paint and set in place with flash of light. She stared at her sister tiredly for a little while before remembering where she was. Her eyes went wide and Hawke smiled. At least she was doing well on one front.

Bethany pushed herself to her feet and looked like she immediately regretted facing the cold air. But it didn't stop her. She raced over to the cliff side she had so nearly been pushed off of the night before to stare out at the horizon. Fog curled into the bay area, licking at the sides of the jagged rocks and curling possessively around each wave. Still there were streaks of orange preserved in the freckling of clouds that caught her sister's eye and held her there in wonder. Hawke followed and sat beside her with her legs dangling off the edge. She glanced behind her (against better judgment) to see Fenris still adamantly avoiding her gaze. He packed blankets and rations onto Stumpy's back giving the mule an irritated look when it whined. Bethany's arm crept around her side in silent comfort, running her fingers along her sister's spine like she did after a particularly rough fight with Leandra. Hawke tore her eyes away and looked at the horizon with her sister.

"It's beautiful." Beth's voice was low, still full of sleep. "I had imagined it a million times, but you were right. It's impossible to describe."

"It's just a lot of water," Hawke said with a small smile. Bethany mirrored her.

"You're such a poet."

Hawke nudged her with her shoulder playfully. "And you know there's more right? We're not at the top of Sundermount yet."

Bethany nodded, looking away from the sun streaked clouds to her older sister. Try as Hawke might, she was never quite able to fool Bethany. Her eyebrows lilted up in concern, and she glanced back at Fenris in confusion. When she opened her mouth to speak, Hawke cut her off.

"It's fine. I'm fine." She said curtly. She offered Bethany a great big grin to prove it, but her sister wasn't buying. Thankfully she didn't comment. Hawke continued, gesturing at Bethany's glimmer. "So. Got all this from those tomes, huh? You're getting pretty good." It was Bethany's turn to avoid her sister's gaze. Hawke's eyes narrowed. Bethany stubbornly focused on braiding her hair. Hawke pressed again, "Beth-"

"Annie." Her sister snapped quietly. "And yes, I am. Is that a problem? Are you going to lock me away too?"

"What?" Hawke frowned. "I didn't say that, I just meant that-"

"That I couldn't possibly be spending my time learning when I'm stuck in the damn palace. Surely it must be a demon." Bethany said shortly.

Hawke shook her head. "That's not what I meant, B-...Annie. I'm sorry. I just want you to be safe."

Bethany sighed heavily, banding the end of her braid and staring at the jagged rocks beneath them. They'd come so close to death. If Bethany had died... Hawke shook her head. No, she would not be her mother. She would not be another person to lock her sister away from the world, or lecture her of its dangers. Especially when Bethany had saved their lives with her barriers, and Isabela's arm with her healing. Aside from having a bad case of the morning grumps, Isabela was moving about as if nothing of the sort had happened. She yelled something at Fenris, motioning to the pack on Stumpy's side. Noticing Hawke staring, she waved, making a point to use the previously injured arm. Hawke snorted and looked back at the water. The fog was rolling and tumbling a retreat as the light of the sun struggled for clarity. If she squinted just a little, she could see the distant touch of the Fereldan border. From where she sat high on the cliff it almost seemed like it wasn't so impossibly far away.

"I see why you like out here." Bethany said quietly. "It's frigid, filthy, and the air is thinner than the finest silks." She paused and looked at her sister worriedly. "You fit out here."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Hawke said.

"Isn't it?" Bethany placed her hand over her sister's and squeezed. "What are you going to do... after?

The image of her mother in her room offering her a way out came to mind without Hawke's permission. She just needed a name. One name and a person behind it to avoid a castle full of Ser Negligee or Ser Spiteful. The thought of either of them made her stomach churn. If it weren't for the kiss, she would've asked Fenris. But now she was sure that he barely wanted anything to do with her. Hawke chewed on her lip. For once, she didn't foresee any way out of her predicament.

"I guess I'll follow through with my promise to mum. That negligee wasn't so bad. It was certainly fun to burn" Hawke offered a teasing grin but Bethany looked furious.

"You can't! What about Fenris? If he knew-"

"He doesn't. And he won't. It's not his burden." Hawke said sternly. "I'll figure something out, Annie."

Bethany took a deep breath. "You know, I could use this glimmer. Back at home, I mean. I could buy you some time-"

"No." Hawke cut her off sharply. "I'm not leaving you to deal with either of those creeps."

"With another few lessons, I'm sure I could handle-"

"Lessons?" Hawke interrupted. "I thought you were using tomes?"

Bethany blanched and her glimmer slipped a little. Hawke's eyes narrowed again. Her younger sister re-adjusted carefully, tucking her braid around the side of her neck and clearing her throat carefully. "I... may have found my own tutor." She said slowly, avoiding Hawke's wrathful gaze. Hawke spluttered in fury, barely able to catch her breath.

"You're telling me that you've been sneaking out of the castle to study magic with a complete stranger? One that could kill you? Or turn you in to the fucking Templars?" Hawke hissed furiously. Bethany frantically tried to hush her, shooting worried glances behind them at Fenris and Isabela. Neither seemed to notice, or care. Hawke's eyes widened in realization. "It's that one guy. The one you saved! Andrew. No. Anthony-"

"Anders." Bethany snapped. "And he would never turn a mage in to the Templars.  _Never_."

Hawke scoffed. "I bet he'd never cheat or lie either. Oh,  _wait_."

Hurt flashed in her sister's eyes one second, and the next she was gathering up her skirts. Bethany stalked off towards camp furiously. Hawke's eyes followed her. She helped Fenris destroy the last of the evidence of their campsite, casting the empty wine bottles off the side of the mountain with a velocity that was entirely unnecessary. Both her sister and the elf only barely missed crashing the bottles into the back of her head. Hawke ducked down low and scowled at them both. They dutifully pretended not to notice. Isabela raised an eyebrow at her.

"Did you get caught in a brothel or something?" The pirate asked. Hawke shrugged and opened her mouth but Isabela waved her hand to stop her. "Come on then, sweet thing. Let's get a move on before you manage to piss off the rest of Thedas."

…

II

…

Waking up to Hawke throwing him off of her was not how he'd envisioned the morning going. Granted, he hadn't had much of a plan to begin with, but opening his eyes to see her staring at him in horror made him wish she was able to rip the heart out of his chest. It somehow seemed merciful in comparison. He backed off immediately. The kiss flooded his mind, however, unrepentantly replaying over and over the feeling of her fingers grasping the back of his throat, the way she breathed him in like air and the hunger in her eyes like she couldn't possibly reach her fill. Fenris wondered dismally if he had imagined it, if wine had coloured his vision with things he hoped for instead of things that were. Regardless, she had left him at the earliest possible opportunity. He would not push her.  _Rees Hawke_. The name still echoed in his mind. The proud way she'd said it, the way she threw back her shoulders and held her chin high like it were the name of a king. It fit her. He wondered if he was still allowed to use the name, or if she regretted that as well.

When Annie came to join him pack, he'd already tucked the essentials back onto the beast's shoulder. He offered her an empty bottle of wine before he noticed the anger lining her face. She took it with an eyebrow raised in confusion. Demonstrating, he hurled the bottle off the cliff-narrowly missing Hawke's head. Fenris wished very badly that the ground open up and swallow him whole. He nearly passed out when Annie took the rest of the bottles and delightedly hurled them at her sister's head. Hawke shot him a murderous look. He slunk back to the edges of the campsite to erase their traces just in case anyone happened to be following them.

Isabela herded the group up the trail like a pirate captain well used to bickering mates. She offered bright chatter to anyone who would listen to her brag for the millionth time about bedding the Hero of Fereldan and their beautiful bard girlfriend. "Such long legs for an elf." She reminisced. "And lovely big brown eyes. Like yours, Annie."

"The bard?" Annie asked, red to the tips of her ears.

"No dear, Warden Tabris. The bard was a whole other tale. Like a fine Orlesian wine, that one. Made me want to-"

Annie coughed and spluttered. Her sister laughed behind her as Isabela launched into the raunchy details. Hawke egged Isabela on, obviously antagonizing her sister.

Annie started walking quicker, to Fenris'  _never ending_  delight, to come walk with him instead. Which was just what his day needed, really. The younger sibling of the woman who'd spurned him. And a mage on top of that. Annie trudged alongside him awkwardly trying to keep up with his longer strides. She wore a similar expression to the one Hawke had made back when he'd first refused to train her. Her eyebrows drew in close, and her eyes were focused on a spot in the distance that shifted every time something disturbed her pace.

He cleared his throat. "So you and your sister—"

"I'm fine." Annie snapped, shooting him a look that would've been identical to Rees' were her eyes not warmer. It was like comparing an ill-tempered spark to a sleet storm. He scowled.

"I didn't ask." He said harshly.

"What? Oh." Annie's eyes blinked, the anger dissipated and replaced with clarity. She looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm just wrapped up in something else."

He glared. "You mean to say that you  _weren't_  throwing wine bottles at your sister's head maliciously?"

Annie looked mortified. "You started—I thought—!"

"I did nothing of the sort."

Annie stared at him like he had three heads. He scoffed and walked faster. She kept up out what seemed to be spite, the staff on her back bouncing as she nearly jogged to keep pace. As the path sloped upwards it became more and more uneven. Limestone edges stuck out like jagged teeth more and more frequently until it was like climbing stairs. They walked in tense silence until Fenris took pity on her and slowed down. She tried to hide her heavy breathing by looking out at the ocean again.

"What were you going to say?" She asked finally.

"I was going to ask if you were from Kirkwall." He said tersely.

She blinked at him with those big soft doe eyes. He wanted to rip them out. "It's um. Well. Sort of. Mora was—"

"Hawke."

The mage locked her gaze on him like he'd just sworn. Colour drained from her cheeks and she looked scared. For a second he wondered if he'd said something else entirely.

"Hawke," she repeated slowly, still watching him. "Hawke was born in Fereldan, but I was born here. In Kirkwall. We had to return after our father died."

Fenris nodded. "What happened to him?"

Annie's shoulders had slouched forward. She tugged at the edges of her sleeves and avoided his eyes. "It's complicated."

"A mage then. Like you." He said the words without mercy. The hurt was apparent in her face as much as she tried to hide it. He heard Hawke and Isabela simmer down behind them, and felt Hawke watching his back. He didn't particularly care. "Mages make everything  _complicated_."

Rage flooded Annie's features again. "Excuse me?"

Hawke piped up from behind them. "Not always. Just when they're strange men that you have no reason to trust whatsoever."

"Anders would never—"

Fenris turned to her incredulously, stopping in his path. "You're trusting  _apostates_  for guidance?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Oh don't  _help_  her."

"Then perhaps my first impression of you was not far off." He seethed.

He kicked a piece of scrap metal out of his path, determined to leave the whole sorry lot behind. Isabela swooped up behind him and slithered her arm through his, clamping it tightly to her side with a meaningful look. He scowled at the pirate. She tugged him, turning away from the Hawke sisters.

"Well would you look at that," she said with a sweeping gesture. "Sundermount. What a sight. Really…  _damp_. Fenris, a second if you would?"

The pirate phrased it as though he had a choice. She pulled him off the path that was barely visible towards some overgrown shrubbery. Vines tangled through the ground like they were keeping the entire mountain composed. Her grip remained firm as they moved further and further away from the group. He opened his mouth to complain, but she hushed him before he could even form the proper words. So he settled for sullenly allowing himself to be lead into one of the many hidden caves on the side of the mountain. The entrance resembled actual structure; like it had at some point been intended for a purpose. The pillars that had marked the opening had long since crumbled to heavy stone chunks. More curled metal scraps

Isabela roughly shoved him inside. Fenris stumbled and looked back at her. " _Fenhedis_  woman,  _what is wrong with you_?"

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with  _you_!" Isabela shoved him again. "You wake up next to Mora, a beautiful woman I might add, piss her off then pick a fight with her  _sister_?"

"Her name," he said bitterly, "is  _Rees Hawke_. And she was not interested in my company."

"Oh but you think pissing off Annie might just turn the situation around? I can't imagine why she might have had reservations; you're so  _pleasant_."

"You cannot honestly expect me to cater to the whims of an apostate; irritatingly amicable one or otherwise." He snarled.

"I expect you," she paused to shove him again, "to act," another shove. Fenris unsheathed his sword. Isabela did not care, "like a  _grown man_  capable of speaking his mind!"

Fenris had a scalding reply ready stopped only by a faint shadow moving off to the side of the cavern. Old moldy wooden handrails creaked and swung dangerously under the weight of something; of someone. His looked around the cavern for signs of the person they'd stumbled upon and instead saw empty metal cages lined with shackles. The sight caught his breath in his throat and froze his feet to the spot. It was a slavers den.

A low, hauntingly familiar laugh crept out of the dimly lit pathway. "Do not trouble yourself, girl," the voice said. "Our little wolf has been trained not to bite."

He had only a second to spin wildly, trying for find the source of the voice. A powerful cold blast shook the walls of the cavern and set the bones rattling in their cages. The spikes of ice slammed into his chestplate and knocked him and Isabela back flat.  _Hadrianna_.

…

III

…

Bethany wasted no time finding her way to the absolute edge of the peak. She sat on a strange stone altar that had long since been abandoned. By the carvings in the side of it, Hawke guessed it was something Dalish. The oversized rock slabs around them hinted at a grave site, but she didn't particularly want to dwell on the thought. She took her time following Beth to the altar, not speaking. She sat down next to her and stared out at the Waking Sea. From higher up, the fierce waves looked calm and still as glass. The marbled blue green of the waters matched the drenched blue of the sky. The coast of Fereldan was a swirl of brown and white snow, a small peninsula only just visible.

"You don't trust me." Bethany said.

Hawke puffed up her cheeks and blew out a breath. She focused on the peninsula. "That's not true."

"It is." Bethany insisted. "I am more than capable of handling myself. If you had a trainer, why can't I have a tutor?"

Hawke didn't answer her. She couldn't.

"And do you also believe me an abomination?" Her sister asked. Bitterness laced through her voice as though she already knew the answer.

"No." Hawke said. "I trust you with my life. I just wish…" She trailed off, shaking her head. She felt Bethany's sorrowful gaze weighing heavily on her.

"That I didn't have magic. Is that it?"

"No! No." Hawke sunk her head in her hands. "It's not that, Bethy. I just wish you weren't in danger. Out here, at home, and with your tutor."

"I'm not—"

"You are. Even if the danger is only mild, it's there. There are men out there that would hunt you down before they knew your name." Hawke spat out the lecture her mother had given her. "People that would condemn you to  _tranquility_  after you  _heal their wounds_. It's not  _you_  I don't trust, sister. It's  _them_." She looked over at Bethany to see if she'd managed anything. If anything, she'd mussed up even worse. Her sister looked stricken. She folded her hands carefully in her lap over the top of her simple staff. Her hands trembled. The small voice telling Hawke to back off was ignored in favour of insisting she could still make things right. "Without me you'd be just fine. You're right. You can handle yourself. But without you, I'd… I couldn't take it."

Bethany was kind enough not to comment, instead taking her sisters hand in her own again. She looked out at the sea with a soft smile. The moss on the altar beneath them was colder than the breeze whipping around the crest of the mountain and the clouds above them ripped through the sky like a race.

A loud crack filled the air, and a rumble of dust spilled across the mountain path. Hawke was on her feet in seconds, racing towards the cave Isabela had dragged Fenris to. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she barely heard herself shout his name. Bethany's footsteps were close behind her, yelling something about instability and powerful magic but it didn't slow Hawke down. The tremors shook the ground beneath their feet and Hawke slid forcefully to the ground, avoiding a boulder that fell loose from the cave structure.

She saw Isabela planting a kick in the chest of a moving skeleton, its boned fingers reaching for her like claws. Fenris stood to her back and slashed through three of the corpses at a time. A woman with long dark hair and piercing eyes howled with cruel laughter.

"If you want something done, you must do it yourself." The mage woman brimmed with power, raising the freshly stricken corpses with a spray of blood from her dripping palm. "Danarius will be  _so_  pleased to have you home again."

Hawke hurled herself into the thick of it, slamming her daggers into the chest of one of the corpses reaching for Fenris and hurled the body to the side. A rotting arm smashed into the side of her face and she stumbled, but a blue barrier caught her back and pushed her upright. Bethany stood planted a small distance behind them, eyes locked on the opposing mage.

"Oh, what's this?" The strange woman crooned. "Has our pet found a  _new_  master?"

"Fenris is a free man!" Hawke crushed the sternum of another body under the hilt of her daggers. She shot Fenris a look, and threw herself at the skeleton in his path. "Go! We'll cover you!"

He looked shocked but only until she yelled ' _now_ '. He pushed himself through the fray and bared his teeth at the robed woman. Hawke heard his low voice rumble her name. " _Hadrianna_. You will die here."

The corpses that had been flinging themselves at her and Isabela's knives faltered. Their legs swayed beneath them with each tremor of Hadrianna's magic. Their empty skulls hung limply on their hollow chests. Hawke turned in time to see the mage snarl and point her bleeding wrist at Fenris. He slashed his sword in a high arc, pinning the outstretched limb to the ground with a brutal crunch. Hadrianna screamed. Wretched moans and wibbling pleas poured from her lips as she frantically tried to reclaim her arm.

"Wait!  _Wait_! You do not want me dead, little wolf. Not when I could tell you—"

"What," Fenris stooped down to grasp her by the throat, "could you  _possibly_  have that I would want?"

"Your sister!" She gasped. "Your sister lives. I could tell you—I could tell you her name!"

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "You  _lie_."

" _Please_ ," Hadrianna moaned. He pressed into her throat harder so that her voice cracked. "Let me live and I'll tell you. Do I have your word?"

His grip did not falter. "You have my word."

Hadrianna gasped for air, clawing at his hands. "Varania. Her name is Varania."

He let go of her throat and she wheezed, gasping for air. She moved to remove the sword from her badly bleeding arm but he stopped her. His right fist glowed and plunged into her chest before she had time to scream again. He raised her off the ground, finding grip around her heart. Her eyes were wide and locked on his. Hawke's feet moved her towards him without thinking. The tremors worsened with the withdrawal of blood magic and Bethany shouted something behind her.

"Rees, the cave,  _the cave is_ —!"

Hawke didn't listen. She was sprinting towards the platform where she watched Fenris rip Hadrianna's heart out of her chest. He tossed the organ to the ground with disgust. Another tremor knocked him to the ground harshly and Hawke threw herself over him to shield him from the falling stalactites. The stone above the fallen skeletons collapsed with a deafening blow. Hawke watched in horror as Isabela and Bethany were suddenly blocked from her view by stone. She heard her sister scream. The tremors thrashed her body harshly against the dead mage, only visible by the glow of Fenris' markings. He gripped onto her tight, pressing her against him until the shaking resided.

"Rees!" Bethany cried. "Rees don't you  _dare_  leave me like this—!"

"I'm fine! We're fine!" Hawke hollered back, still hesitant to let go of Fenris' form. She tried to steady her breathing, but the words came out ragged anyway.

"Are you hurt?" Isabela's voice carried through the stone wall now blocking them from the mountain path in what looked like a very permanent way.

"We're fine, Bela. Just get Annie to safety, please!" She yelled.

Bethany shouted back something about getting help, the pirate saying something about staying put. Neither statement sunk in. Hawke's eyes had found Fenris', close as they had been by the bonfire. Something like shock had his expression frozen in place.

And when the voices of her sister and her friend faded, she found herself alone again with the strange man she had kissed so foolishly the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again friends! Sorry this update took a while. Work week and all that. As always, little tidbits and stuff I don't deign worthy enough of actual publication will find itself in my tumblr (ingredient-x); including drawings and references of Rees herself. So if you guys are like me and get curious about all the details, that's where you'll find'em.
> 
> Anyways, who's ready for the emotional roller coaster of these last few chapters? Who else is freaking out? I'm freaking out.


	14. Conclusion to Act II

…

I

…

Her hand was pressed against his chest. Even through the armour, she felt the heavy rise and fall of his breathing. She felt the heat somewhere near her neck. The curl of tattoos on his chin still glowed, lighting his face with ominous sharp angles. He was watching her like he didn't recognize her. Save for the odd shift of rubble, the silence was more pressing than the newly shrunken cavern. She was stuck once again trying to figure out how to gracefully disentangle herself from her trainer.  _Friend_. Bethany's voice echoed in her mind. She hoped it was still the case.

Hawke pushed herself away, courteous enough to look away from the obviously distressed elf. She realized only upon moving that she had fallen on top of the bloodied corpse of the mage woman. What was her name? Hadrianna. The woman's dead eyes stared vacantly at the rockslide she'd trapped them in, mouth hanging open in a scream. The gaping hole in her chest still leaked blood that glistened black in the blue-white glow. Hawke offered her hand to help Fenris up. He pushed it out of the way and got up.

"I do not require your assistance,  _Mora_." He spat the name like venom. Hawke grit her teeth.

"Good thing I wasn't here to save your ass from the hordes of skeletons while Madam Bleeds-a-lot taunted you from the corners." She mocked him with a healthy dosage of scorn. He pushed past her, using the wall still standing to guide him down the barely stable corridors. She had hardly any choice but to follow him. He was the bloody light-source. She swore heavily and trudged after him. "So much for staying put, or waiting for help."

He did not deem the comment worthy of response. They kept one hand to the wall, one to the wobbling rails. He walked like he was intent on losing her. She struggled to keep up, his strides long enough to be able to cross the gaps in the flooring when they passed where she would have to take a running jump. The longer the silence pressed into her like the castle walls. The tattoos on the back of his arms thrummed and glowed brightly, leading the way through the tunnels so confidently she could've sworn he knew the path. She thought again of Hadrianna. Of the way she spoke of Fenris. Like he was a  _thing_. It made her skin crawl.

"Are you… okay?" She asked against her better judgment. He halted in his path and she nearly smacked into him. The look he gave her was answer enough. She waited until he started moving again to mumble, "Sorry. Just… thought I'd ask. Sorry."

"I am considerably better now that she is dead." He said coldly. "Or were you referring to this morning?"

Like she'd needed the punch in the gut. Hawke thought of the betrayed look he'd given her when she'd woken him up and felt her heart sink to her feet. She bit back a remark he didn't deserve and kept focus on the arms in front of her. It had been her fault. He had been drunk and friendly and she'd taken it as an invitation. Rejection or no, she owed him an apology. "I'm sorry for that too, I suppose."

He scoffed, his voice dripping with malice. "You  _suppose_."

"What do you want from me?" Hawke snapped. "I wasn't trying to take advantage of you. I backed off as soon as I could."

"Yes, you made that  _quite_  apparent." He hissed.

Hawke paused for a second, trying to wrap her head around the statement. She had moved away as soon as she'd realized the situation. She didn't throw his arm that hard. Besides, what  _else_  was she supposed to do? Hawke thought she'd done a pretty terrific job with correcting the problem before it got weird. Well,  _weirder_. "Look, I know I'm not great with subtlety—"

"You threw a rock at me and broke my nose the  _second time we met_."

She snorted. "You were being a shit."

The silence was less pressing. She put a hand on the sword slung over his back and looped her fingers through the sling. It was easier to follow him that way. If he minded, he didn't mention it.

In truth, Bethany's concern was haunting her more than the kiss was. They'd fled the castle two nights ago; soon to be three. By now Carver was undoubtedly leading a search squad. For all she knew, her mother could have already held the final competition in their absence. Ser Gilbert or Ser Vincento could be waiting for their fucking blushing bride. Hawke felt sick to her stomach and held onto Fenris tighter.

She wondered what she had done wrong. Maybe she should've let her mother rig the competition while there were still decent options to be had. Or maybe, she thought bitterly, you shouldn't have pushed yourself on the only friend you have. Her foot caught in one of the smaller gaps in the unsteady wooden path. She fell forward and only caught herself by yanking hard on the sword strap she grasped. Fenris shot her an irritated look.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to…" Hawke trailed off, letting it drop.

"Were you trying to throw me again?" He said shortly. "I believe I got the message the first time, Mora."

"I'll throw you off the damn ledge in a minute." She grumbled irritably before thinking. Hurt laced through his features again and Hawke's heart felt like she'd squashed it under the heel of her boot. " _What_? What is with that face?"

He turned forward again and tried to keep moving. "I don't know what you're referring to."

It had been a long day. A very, very long day. Perhaps on a day when she hadn't lost her best friend, pissed off her sister, seen a very attractive elf rip the heart out of a magister's chest then survived a fucking rockslide, Hawke would've been amenable to the idea of patience. But all those things and  _more_  had graced her day with their presence so Rees Hawke snatched Fenris by the sword and spun him around to face her. As soon as he turned, she grabbed the edges of his chestplate and pushed him into the cavern wall. His upper lip curled in anger, green eyes looking grey with only his tattoos for light.

"Spit it the fuck out, Goose." She snapped.

He scowled at her. "You'll forgive me if I don't want to discuss my feelings with the woman that scorned me,  _Mora_."

"Scorned you…?" Hawke asked bewilderedly.

"Rees Hawke," he hissed, grabbing her by the hands and spinning them faster than Hawke could keep up with. The next thing she knew, her back slammed against the wall where his had been, his fingers curled tightly under her collar and kept her pinned. "You are  _maddening_."

" _I'm_  maddening?" She was furious. "You looked like you were going to be sick at the sight of me. You threw wine bottles at my head. You could have just  _said_  it meant nothing. That would've sufficed. But Maker forbid you use your fucking words-… _What_?"

Fenris' face was close to hers again, eyes locked on her like she might bite. Hawke considered it.

"Last night…" He spoke carefully. She clenched her jaw and steeled herself for rejection. He looked like he wasn't sure how to phrase it.  _Come on_ , she thought.  _Get it over with_. He swallowed. "Rees, last night was the best thing that has ever happened to me."

She blanched and her jaw dropped. He looked away quickly, and let her collar go with limp hands. He took as much as one step back before she snatched his hands back and pulled him close to crush her lips against his again. Her heart beat in a frenzy, wild and erratic against her ribs. He stayed stock still long enough that she worried that he was going to throw her over the ledge into the cavern until his arm wrapped around her waist and held her tightly against him. She felt an armoured hand weave through her short hair and heard a low growl as she ran her fingers over his ears and pinched the tips lightly.

He pressed her gently into the cavern wall, never moving his lips from hers save to breathe. His leg moved between hers, pressing against her like he couldn't have enough contact. She held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist eagerly. When he broke the kiss, she heard herself whine his name softly. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw his taking in every detail of her face like he didn't want to forget anything.

Hawke cupped his jaw gently and pressed her nose against his. "Fenris, I am yours."

She offered a small shy smile, feeling like the burning red spread from her cheeks to her toes. His hand brushed aside her bangs like they were made of precious metals. He looked at her like she was lightning and kissed her again just as fiercely. She toyed with the buckles of his armour, purposefully obvious to let him know her intentions. He took his hands away from her waist, instead pressing her into the wall to hold her up. Rees squeezed her legs around him and returned the pressure. He groaned against her lips, frantically trying to tear off the armoured gloves.

Seconds after the metallic clink of the gauntlets hit the floor, his hands were all over her, tracing her collarbone and grasping at her shoulders. They trailed lower to her breasts, pressing upwards and tugging the snaps that held the flimsy armour on until he found skin. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples until they were hardened, pinching and pulling lightly as she moaned into his neck. Rees was trying as hard as she could to undo the clasps. With an impatient snarl, Fenris ceased his ministrations and undid the armour for her, letting it drop to the ground. He shed the tunic underneath and hissed out a breath of relief as she pressed her naked chest against his own.

The cavern flooded with light once the tunic was gone. Rees stared, breathless in awe. She traced a finger gently around the designs—careful not to touch the glow—with soft admiration. He watched her with a sad look. She pulled his face to hers again and kissed him softly with a murmur, "You are so beautiful."

"If I have ever…" He paused, flush creeping up his throat. She smiled wryly. It was cute. He'd already had his hands down her shirt, but found a way somehow to be suddenly bashful. "If I have, I do not remember it. Are you sure you want this?"

She responded by taking his earlobe between her teeth and running her tongue along the edge. He shivered beneath her. "Wait any longer and I might throw you for real, you oversized lantern."

He laughed against her cheek, lowering them to the ground like she weighed nothing. He pressed himself between her legs, grinding against her. She arched up to meet him, fingers tugging at his belt. He gave her a familiar grin and took her hands in his to pin above her head. The floor creaked beneath them as she wriggled free from her own pants. His hands clawed at the fabric, forcing it down around her thighs without much regard for the ripping sound it made and had his fingers pressed against her in moments. She gasped, pushing against him as he teased her with small circular motions and feather light touches.

Not to be out-done, she twisted her shaking legs around his using the trick he'd taught her, shifted her weight and flipped them. She saw his eyes widen in realization just before his back hit the scaffolding with a thud. He looked mildly annoyed that his plan had failed until she rolled her hips against the swell in his trousers. Fenris watched wordlessly as she drew the belt out and tossed it aside. She slid her fingers around the waistband, teasingly, and he thrust his fingers inside her in response. First one, then two, spreading and curling until her arms could barely hold her up. She grasped him by the shaft, running her fingers over the tip and squeezing gently. He pressed himself hard into her hands, eyes hungry and desperate.

Rees guided him to the slick wetness he was pumping three fingers in and out of and lowered herself with a cry of frustration. He wasted no time in grabbing her hips, slamming himself deep inside her until she was moaning his name. The wooded rails beside them shook and the path quaked with each thrust but they didn't care. She rode him with wild abandon and he whispered her name like a prayer until she came, biting down on his shoulder. He pulled out of her finally and she wrapped her lips around him and sucked greedily. He watched her and swore under his breath in Tevene as her tongue pushed him over the edge. He seized beneath her, head thrashing back with a loud cry. She held him, pressing her chest to his until he caught his breath again.

He didn't have long.

The creaking floor beneath them finally cracked under their combined weight, dropping their bodies to the blackness below like stones in a well. Rees felt Fenris wrap himself around her protectively and she clawed out, trying to find purchase in the darkness. Her fingers dug into rock and slid, scraping the skin off her palm as she tried to slow their fall. She cried out and their sides slammed against cold dirt floor, knocking the wind from their lungs. His tattoos flickered out like a candle and Rees panicked.

"Fenris?" She shook his shoulders. " _Fenris_ , can you hear me?"

Their armour clanked to the ground around them and he groaned. She could see just the bare outline of his face, his green eyes reflecting what little light there was in the cavern. She blinked. There wasn't any light in the cavern. Or there  _hadn't_  been. She heaved herself off of the groggy elf and looked around frantically before finding it. A small speck off light in a distant passageway promised the return of the damp sunlight of Sundermount. She laughed delightedly and pointed with a bloody hand. Fenris had followed her quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing the soft spot under her ear gently.

Sundermount, she supposed, could stand to wait a little while longer.

…

II

…

"I bet they haven't even stayed put." Annie grumped. "They were all… all…! You  _know_."

"Horny?" Isabela prompted. She got a loud cry of frustration for her trouble.

"That's not-! Well, yes, but." Annie pushed her bangs out of her face for what must have been the twentieth time in the last minute. The girl needed a more practical haircut. "Rees isn't exactly likely to listen to reason. Or even think about her own safety. Not when she's—"

"Horny."

"— _angry_." Annie shot her a glare. Isabela laughed.

"I'm sure they're fine, kitten." Isabela said soothingly. "Hawke is quite talented. And though Fenris tends to keep his foot in his mouth, he's not bad with a sword either."

Annie made a face at the word 'Hawke', like she was unused to it being said. For all her curves and fancy cloaks, she was still very much girlish. It was odd to see someone that looked so similar to Hawke full-on pouting. Truth be told, the name had been bothering Isabela as well. For different reasons, she assumed. But nonetheless, she could've sworn she'd heard of the Hawke's before. It was like one of Varric's stories just couldn't find its way to the forefront of her mind.

The sky was growing darker and darker as they walked, the wretched mule altering between ear splittingly loud whines and horrific bowel movements every hour or so. Annie had tried to defend 'Stumpy' for the first hour or so but let it drop after the stupid creature took a giant piss on her robes. Her skirts had dried, thankfully, so at least their merry little party no longer smelled like The Hanged Man after a bachelor party.

When they passed the cottage, Annie paused curiously.

"Is that where she trained?" She asked.

"Hawke?" Isabela used the name again just to make sure Annie's flinch wasn't imaginary. It wasn't.  _Interesting_. "Mmhm. Fenris taught her the basics, but I made her  _really_  good."

Annie swung her staff out playfully and Isabela ducked. The younger girl giggled. "You  _are_  good."

"And you're more like Hawke than I thought." The pirate grinned. "Now come on, sweet thing. We're almost to the city."

Her smiled faded a little and she shifted from foot to foot nervously. Another shared trait. Isabela stared at her as if the mystery behind her name would somehow spell itself out for her.

"Maybe you should stay here." Annie said quietly. Isabela balked.

"And have your sister skin me? I think not." Isabela slung an arm around her partly for camaraderie but mostly for security purposes. The dodgier the sisters got, the more Isabela wanted to make sure they were well within knife range. Especially when one of them had a staff and the other knew all her best moves. "What is it about the city that makes you so nervous, pet?"

"Th-the city?" Annie stammered. Isabela's wry smile widened. She was on to something. "No, nothing. It's just. Hm. It's nothing."

"Come on then, kitten. You can tell me. We left the broody types in a cave, remember?"

Bad move. Worry flooded back into the younger Hawke's face, suddenly tense and an guard again. She shrugged Isabela's arm off her shoulders and gave her an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry Bela, I really am, but I can't tell you. Not  _yet_." She said. Isabela frowned and took a step towards her, one hand subtly moving to the dagger at her hip. Annie cringed. "Please don't be mad?"

"What would I have to be mad—" Isabela stopped mid-sentence, in-voluntarily. A soft green light swept around her, pushing itself into her mouth and nose like heavy warm air.

It smelled like the salty seas and open skies and rocked her gently to the ground. Annie caught her before she fell and carefully propped her up against the cottage door. The pirate stared at her disbelievingly, jaw sagging open as her muscles betrayed her. She watched the young mage scurry off to tie Stumpy to the post a ways from her, apologizing anxiously the whole time. The last she saw of Annie Hawke was when she disappeared behind the tall grass hiding the path to the castle leaving the pirate stunned on the ground.

It made it awfully hard to resist arrest when the captain of the royal guard swept in with half the palace soldiers and a terrified princess behind him.

…

III

…

It had been more than three hours since they'd spotted the exit and they'd only made it about halfway to the light before it started dimming. This was not due to difficulty of travelling; at least not of the terrain variety. No it was impossible for Rees Hawke to actually get a move on when she kept looking back at the beautiful glowing elf that held her hand with the hand he'd used to rip out vital organs  _that same day_.

The closer they got to the exit, the more Rees' stomach tossed and turned. The excursion was over and she would have to return to palace life. To the god forsaken contest. No matter how tightly he held her hand or how smoothly he kissed her and called her 'Mora' in a voice full of affection, she could not summon the courage to give him her last truth. There was no good way to phrase it.  _Oh hey and about that name thing, it's actually short for Audrianna. Short for Audrianna Amell. Actually Audrianna Leandrea Gianna Dawn Amell, Royal Princess and Heir to the Kirkwall throne. But it's a bit of a mouthful, so Rees works fine_.

Fenris squeezed her hand gently. "You have a look."

"A look?" She responded as casually as she could. "And what look would that be?"  _Other than panic_.

"You tell me, Mora." He offered her a close lipped smile. She had stolen his tunic and abandoned her top piece to the caverns, leaving him shirtless.  _For practicality_ , she had told him smoothly then dragged him down for another long kiss. Now she was regretting it. It made it hard to focus on trying to calmly ask him to rule the kingdom with her. Rees swallowed.

"No looks here, Goose. Just not ready for the trip to be over." It wasn't a lie, per say. It just wasn't the  _whole_  truth. "I'm going to miss these caverns."

He gave her a knowing look and tugged her close enough to wrap his arm around her waist as they walked. It was a good thing he had let go of her hand, too. She could feel her palms start to get clammy as the sounds of the ocean got closer and closer. They were almost to the mouth of the cave. She could see the green leaves of elfroot lining the pathway and the blue of the sea beyond the cliffs when she stopped in her tracks. Fenris stopped with her.

"I…" She took a deep breath. "Fenris there's something you need to know."

He didn't say anything, but the words had poisoned his mood with caution he had left behind in the caves. Rees cursed and pulled away from him, pacing as best she could in the small passageway. Fenris was starting to look seriously worried.

"I just want you to know first that I meant everything. Every word." She offered reassuringly. It did not help. He looked angry.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He snapped. "What is this about, Rees?"

"I want you to run away with me." She blurted. The words left her mouth before she could stop them and her eyes went wide as soon as she realized she had spoken them at all. Fenris looked stunned. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I can't explain everything now, but I have to leave.  _Tonight_. I can't go back to Kirkwall."

Fenris stood still in silence, looking at her like she'd sprouted wings and declared herself a griffon. She may as well have. He frowned, "What of your sister? And Isabela?"

"We'll come back for them. I promise, but we have to leave  _now_." Rees insisted, pleading with him to just accept it as it was. She didn't have a plan. She just knew she couldn't return to either of the knights that waited for her back at the castle. She couldn't pretend to honour political vows after having tasted the real thing. Bethany was right. Rees didn't belong in Kirkwall.

"Mora, I don't understand the sudden urgency. If you'd explain, maybe we could help." Fenris stepped closer to where she sulked and took her hand again. She wanted to flinch away. He hadn't directly said no but he hadn't exactly said yes either. He pressed his palm to hers and laced their fingers together. When he spoke again it was quiet and stern. "I will follow you wherever you would have me go. But you could at least tell me why."

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. What if he got angry? What if he thought she would betray him? He had never made it secret his distrust for people in positions of power and  _future queen_  was pretty high up on the list of local authority. The pounding in her ears got louder. The floor felt like it was shaking beneath her.

Except that it  _was_. The floor was actually shaking and the pounding wasn't her heart, it was footsteps. Soldiers. Her heart stilled. Royal soldiers.

They rounded the corner into the cave like a mob, torches lit and hoisted high above their heads glowing a sharp unwelcome orange. The red uniforms marched ominously towards them; Carver leading the pack. Next to him was Bethany. She looked like she'd been crying. Hawke looked to her side and saw Isabela being dragged along in shackles. She didn't need to look to know that Fenris had drawn his sword. Carver drew his in response.

Rees threw herself at Fenris and knocked the weapon out of his hand. She didn't even have time to apologize before Carver grabbed her roughly by the arm. She cried out when soldiers rushed out to wrestle Fenris into another set of shackles, dragging him alongside Isabela. The elf did not stop staring at her, hurt and betrayal clearly written on his face. She felt a sob bubble up in the back of her throat.

"Men," Carver shouted to the soldiers. They responded with a unanimous grunt and a stomp. "We return to the castle tonight with the criminals we sought. They will receive their justice by the hands of the royal family."

"Don't  _touch_  her."

She heard Fenris snarl at the guards, straining against his chains and throwing blows with his elbows and shoulders until four or five of the rookie soldiers physically restrained him. Carver threw her to the usual bunch of trainees that were supposed to be memorizing the face of the nameless peasant she played when she got caught. They cuffed her hands roughly behind her back and started dragging her back towards the palace. Hawke struggled and tried to shout but a gag found her mouth and she could only look behind her helplessly as Bethany stood between her brother and her… Well, she didn't know what Fenris  _was_  now.

All she heard was Carver informing Fenris that the dangerous criminal would likely be executed. All she saw was the heartbreak spread across his face as his eyes desperately searched for her. She screamed against her gag, wanting to tell him it wasn't true it was just a cover. She wanted to tell him that she would be back, that she would free him from whatever cell Carver put him in, that no harm would come to him so long as she still lived.

Instead she was shoved roughly onto the back of a horse and sandwiched between two stern guards as the beast galloped back to the palace.


	15. Remnants of a Dead Man

...

I

...

Fenris hurt deep in his bones, the lyrium markings burning deep any time his anger overwhelmed him. He could not remove the image of Rees being torn away from him or the look on her face as the young upstart royal guard had snidely informed him of her fate. He couldn't rub the scream out of his ears. There were red rings around his wrists from the long walk back to Kirkwall castle where the cuffs had rubbed the skin off his wrists in patches.

Isabela slept loudly in the cell next to his, seeming to have a difficult time shaking whatever drug the guards had given her. Save for similar red marks around her wrists, she looked unharmed. In contrast, Fenris had foolishly picked fights with the guards as many times as they would humour him. He had a split lip, the beginnings of a black eye and bruises the size of his fists all over his chest and legs. They'd been  _kind_  enough to keep their weapons sheathed. The guard captain himself had almost gutted him on more than one occasion, stopped only by short terse words from the princess that accompanied him. She shot him nervous looks the whole trip like he was a creature barely contained. He had spat blood at her in return. He didn't feel particularly inclined towards gratitude.

But he spent his effort slinging the nastiest insults he could think of at the guard. Anything to delay him getting his hands on Hawke, or learn something of what he was up against. The young upstart had all but ripped him a new one for the first few hours, letting him know exactly how long he'd be sitting in his cell and exactly which bucket he'd be shitting in and drinking out of for the rest of his life. All he'd managed to find out was that it was the same royal guard that had presided over the contest rounds-Carver Amell. Previously a prince with a direct line to the throne, but for whatever reason had given up the life of luxury for "responsibility" and "duty". Telling him it was horseshit earned him a right hook to the jaw that he was still feeling.

The hay in the cell was damp, unable to dry in the danker levels beneath the palace. Each cell had a mirror in the back-presumably for security. Couldn't hide knives or weapons when the guards could see your face and back at the same time. Curiously, the guards assigned to their particular cells were low ranked at best. They had ignored all of Fenris' furious pacing and responded to none of his taunts. If they were meant to be monitoring them at all, they were doing a poor job. The guard to the left of the stairs had been asleep for at least an hour. For a time, Fenris had slammed the metal bucket against the cell bars at odd intervals just to keep the bastard awake. But now that it was nearing dawn. He thought, anyway. There weren't exactly windows.

He sat with his back to the bars now, staring at the ground before the mirror. The mirror in Isabela's cell was cracked badly down the middle, edges worn in and rusted. The corners around the edges were chipped, some missing shards. He wondered how many prisoners had cut their hands trying to fight with the shards. Or had ended their lives like that. The pirate slumped against the mirror, her head lolling down onto her chest. Her hair was full of mud and twigs. He had tried to wake her on the walk home, but she had seemed dazed at best-like she'd been tranquilized.

Wrath crawled through his veins again like molten lead. He picked up the bucket next to him and slammed it into the metal bars again. The cacophonous sound didn't even stir the pirate. He looked over his shoulder to see the sleeping guard shoot him another annoyed look but instead found both guards asleep on the floor-unmoved. Fenris slammed the bucket again, harder this time. The bars rattled and shook. The mirrors behind them rang like tapped wine-glasses, soft and unnatural. Fenris stood up uneasily, watching his own mirror fidget as if it were living. He heard a feminine grunt and the mirror unhinged, falling to the floor with a clatter. He picked up the bucket again. It was better than being empty handed.

Annie Hawke stared up at him, covered in grime and smelling like  _death incarnate_. Behind her followed a blonde man smelling equally as foul. He wore a bizarre feathered jacket and looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He supposed this was the famed  _tutor_. The man smiled and waved at him. Fenris clamped a hand over his nose and mouth and made a face. Annie rushed over to him while Anders righted the mirror. Once it had been re-affixed, the smell lessened slightly and the girl pulled down the red bandana she'd used to cover her nose and mouth. She scanned over his injuries with several  _tsks_. She looked to him for permission before healing and he nodded slightly. The magic stung sharply where it met with the lines of lyrium and he hissed in pain. Her eyes shot back to his face in alarm.

"That hurts you?" She asked quietly. "Is it the markings?"

He grit his teeth. "It is normal."

Sadness washed over her features. Fenris scowled but did not look away. It was magic that had wrought his markings and the mage could writhe in guilt for all he cared. She approached his injuries again with a tight sigh. "I'll move quickly, then. Anders, would you-"

"No."

Annie stopped her ministrations the second he spoke, waiting for an explanation.

" _You_  may work.  _He_  will not. If I see him weave a single spell, I will kill him." Fenris growled, his eyes locked on Anders. The mage shot him a look of contempt.

"Kill me? With what? The  _bucket_?" Anders scoffed.

Light blue patches rippled under his skin as he felt Annie's hand soft but firm on his chest. She gave him a pleading look. He remained tense but controlled the urge to phase through the blonde man's chest and rip out the first thing he could grasp. She spoke softly, "I understand, Fenris. My apologies."

Fenris clenched his jaw and let her work. The bruises faded until there were only sore spots and stiffness in his joints. The swelling threat of a black eye was reduced to a vague grogginess and the split lip was mended without a single stitch. Annie did her best to be gentle, he could tell, but he still watched her carefully. She checked with him now and again to make sure she was still in the clear. He'd give her a terse nod before she would continue. Anders skulked near the grate separating his cell from Isabela's. His eyes narrowed on the pirate's limp form. He studied her with an intensity that Fenris didn't like. It was too clinical. Too distant.

"Annie, is this the woman you spoke of?" Anders asked. Annie nodded absently, not looking up from the bruise on Fenris' forearm. "Did you not put a limit on the spell? She's still asleep."

Annie froze, panic creeping into the edge of her features. Fenris had her slammed against the mirror by her neck in seconds. She gasped, fighting for air. Her hands were clawing at his own, and her feet scrambling to find support. Wide brown eyes flashed in fear. He pressed harder. Beside him, Anders drew his staff, crackling with blue energy. Fenris ignored him. "This is  _your_  doing?  _You drugged Isabela_?"

Annie nodded against his hands, her face turning red slowly. She struggled against him and croaked, "Small spell.  _Necessary_. Meant to... to keep her safe. I messed up."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand," he snarled. He lessened his grip only to slam her forcefully against the mirror again.

" _ **You will die before you have the chance**_." A deep voice rumbled behind him, unearthly.

Fenris dropped Annie and focused instead on the cracks in Anders' skin, the piercing blue light that flooded through his mouth and eyes threatening to rip through him like he were made of gossamer. Fenris tripped over his own feet trying to get back, out of the demon's reach. The lyrium in his skin sizzled and hissed at the bits of Fade leaking in through the abomination. They felt like they were fresh again and he could feel the twist of scars breaking and forming underneath them. The mage levelled his staff at Fenris' face, electricity welling up at the tip. Fenris' chest heaved, agony and unfiltered fear coursing through him faster than his heart could beat. He had seen abominations like this before, and it always ended in the blood of slaves standing in the way. He saw clearly the frail bodies stretched out on altars, blood captured in the cracks and basins. He heard their screams in the blue tendrils, saw Rees' face gagged and torn away from him. His legs shook beneath him as he stood and he tensed the muscle. He fought to keep himself still, and to meet the demons gaze without averting his eyes.  _No more running_.

Annie knocked the staff out of the demon's hands and the blue light flickered out like a match. Anders stumbled and fell. Fenris wasn't sure when he'd begun ghosting, but he felt the odd pins and needles in his arms as he gradually returned his skin to normal. As normal as it could ever be. Annie was yelling something at the crumpled man but his head was too clouded to hear it. He was breathing hard and staring at Isabela still slouched against the mirror and willing her to move. He couldn't handle two mages on his own. Not when one was an abomination and the other looked so much like her.

The younger Hawke gripped Anders' staff with white knuckles and refused to give it back to him. The man was at least smart enough not to argue. As furious as she was, the resemblance to Rees was striking. Fenris' heart sank. Rees was going to hang. Her sister was doomed and he couldn't protect her. He wondered if she knew. He watched her magic flow out of Isabela's mouth and sink into the dirty floor. He felt numb.

Isabela was on her feet as soon as the magic left her, gold eyes sparking with anger. Her fingers curled through the grate between the cells and she rattled it hard with strong arms. Her voice finally broke through the spell.

"Fenris!  _Move_! Annie's the traitor!" She shouted. Fenris already knew. Isabela shook the grate again. "Can you not hear me? I said  _fucking move_!"

Fenris swore loudly and turned his attention to Annie once more. His arm lit up bright blue again and he grit his teeth against the pain of the still throbbing tattoos. "You said it was necessary. Explain yourself."

Isabela shot him a furious look that he ignored. He would not kill Rees' little sister if he could help it. Annie watched his arm nervously, so he flexed his fingers. She took in a shaky breath.

"I.. I'm sorry Isabela. I didn't know the guard would arrest you. I just meant to keep you out of the city-"

"Bull _shit_." Isabela interrupted. "See, Rees and Annie here are a little out of our league it seems. The  _fucking donkey_  was from the  _royal stables_. That's why the  _whole fucking army_  was out looking for them. They've been stealing from the  _fucking queen_ of _fucking Kirkwall_."

Fenris looked between them. Anders moved to speak but Annie silenced him with a motion. The colour had all but drained from her cheeks. "It's true," she said carefully. "I couldn't risk Isabela coming into the city with me. If she got caught with me, they'd name her an accomplice. But I knew she wouldn't leave me willingly, so…" She turned to look at Isabela again. "I'm  _so_  sorry Isabela. I thought I'd have time to come get you before they marched by. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I swear it."

"I don't care what you meant." Fenris snapped. "You  _failed_. Your sister got caught."

Annie's lips flattened into a thin line. Her eyes were suddenly tired and in the dim lighting of the cells, she looked older. "I know. That's why I came here. I thought maybe she would be in this cell. But I guess Carver wised up to our old trick."

"You make a habit of breaking out of the  _royal fucking palace_?" Isabela asked incredulously at the same time Fenris asked, "You know the royal captain of the guard  _by name_?"

She let out a nervous breathy laugh and shuffled her feet awkwardly. "It's… complicated. But that's not why I'm here. I… don't know how to break you out of that cell, Isabela, but they already posted bail for you. Do you have someone I could send for you?"

"And why should I trust you now,  _kitten_?" Isabela purred, sticky sweet.

"I guess you shouldn't. But I want to make it up to you." Annie shrugged her shoulders.

The pirate assessed her briefly. "Varric. He has a room at The Hanged Man."

Annie nodded, "Thank you. I will tell him. And Fenris, I can get you out of here at least. Rees would want that, I think."

Fenris looked at the floor guiltily. "Then you know. I'm sorry."

She all but ignored him, moving to remove the mirror from the wall again, but not after replacing the bandana over her nose. "I do not intend to give up on her freedom yet. But we must hurry. Are you coming, or not?"

He looked between her and Anders, the blonde man still avoiding eye contact, and nodded slightly. Annie offered what might've been a meek smile underneath the bandana before leading the way down into the sewers. Anders gestured for him to move first but Fenris wasn't having it.

"Abominations first." He said coldly. Anders scowled at him.

...

II

...

They had been unwise to lock her in her room without Hector. Her dog usually tempered her slightly; only in that she did not like to see him upset. Without such pretenses, Hawke's room lie in disarray around her feet. Wooden shrapnel had been carved from her intricate bedpost, red ribbons from the drapes scattered like imitation blood splatter. She didn't want an imitation. Her daggers felt hot in her palms and she couldn't tell if it was her or the metal underneath that burned. But all she saw was red. She saw Fenris' face as her own brother put him in shackles. The first thing she'd destroyed had been the fucking wig.

The huge glass window looking out onto the Waking Sea had been barred years ago but it didn't stop her from punching through the glass with the hilts of her daggers. It didn't stop her from spreading the shards across the floor like landmines despite the cuts that stung her palm. She couldn't fathom how she had ever been restricted to such a room. It was so breakable, so fragile. A single misplaced word could've had the entire palace on edge. The thought of a destroyed wing set fire to her blood.

Fear had kept her in here. Uncertainty. She had thought maybe she could take the throne, that it wouldn't be so bad if she was in charge. Bethany had been right. She did not fit this castle. She had outgrown it and clutched to the dragon engraved daggers like the key to freedom resided in the tips of the blades.

Hawke was dragging sides of her blades down each of her dresses with tender care when Carver unlocked her door. She didn't move. She was fascinated by the difference an angle could make in turning a fine silk into a mound of useless thread. There was a jagged edge just past the grip of the hilt. Probably for skinning, but it worked well undoing the complex embroideries and beads. When she shifted her legs, the pool of gems and beads flooded to the floor amongst the broken glass and loose threads. It was admittedly satisfying.

"How  _typical_." She didn't have to face him to see Carver's sneer. He must have felt pretty proud to successfully drag her back to the castle. "Your rendezvous was cut short, so you through a tantrum. Poor Audrianna couldn't have exactly what she wanted."

Hawke didn't respond. Instead she pierced the skin of the fabric and ripped upwards in an arcing motion. It was not as good as taking down slavers, but it scratched the itch.

"Did that satisfy you?" Carver moved to stand before her. He blocked the dim light from the window with broad shoulders covered in medals from the guard. It was good to see he was doing well. "Are you appeased?"

"Appeased?" Rees asked absently.

He guffawed, gesturing to the wreckage around the room. "It will certainly get mother's attention. She won't let this go, either. That woman can hold a grudge."

She frowned. Grudge was a good word for it. Leandra had had a grudge against the entirety of Kirkwall since her father died. Nothing was good enough to make up for the loss. No apology could ever suffice. Hawke was beginning to understand what that felt like. She eyed Carver sharply and he made a visible effort not to flinch under her gaze.

"Do you?"

Carver looked uneasy. "Do I what?"

"Hold a grudge."

His eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. "About capturing you? No, that was relatively easy-"

"About Dad."

He fell silent. He stared at the ground before Rees' feet. Her little brother was starting to look like he regretted his decision to gloat.  _Good_ , she thought. Perhaps he does learn. He puffed out his chest and locked his eyes on hers proudly.

"I… no. But I would have you avoid a similar fate. Even if I have to-"

"Lock me away?" She interjected sharply. "That's not what you told Fenris. Apparently I'm to  _hang_."

Carver made a face. "Necessary precaution. We can't have people looking for you. You've already compromised enough of your identity." He paused. "Who's Fenris?"

"Tall elf. White hair. His tattoos glow. You  _might_  remember him." She said coldly, ripping another gash in the dress on her lap. "I'm wearing his tunic."

"Wearing his... tunic?" Carver glanced down at it, as if he hadn't noticed it before. It was a charcoal black, with some tears at the hems that suggested it had been very well worn. Though Fenris' shoulders were far broader than her own and his torso was longer, she had more heft. The tunic hung tightly around her chest, loosely draped around her waist and struggled to drape over wide hips. Only the drooping shoulders gave it away as a man's garment.

Hawke watched her brother put the pieces together and took no small pleasure at watching the colour drain from his face. His blue eyes went wide, very much resembling his twin, and he stammered, ".. _O-oh._  Hm. I see."

"Mmhm." She focused her attention back on the rags in front of her. Once upon a time, it had been a gorgeous evening gown she'd been stuffed into to meet her suitors. Now it was being braided for a sturdy rope. He eyed her warily as she worked, as if hoping she would offer something else to relieve the tension in the air. She did not feel obliged.

"He escaped this morning." He said awkwardly. "If that helps."

"Your doing?" She asked sharply. He did not try to hide his flinch.

"I... no. Bethany, probably." Anger returned to him slowly as he remembered his twin. "She could have died out there, Audrianna. It's not fair to drag her down with you. You know why she has to stay hidden. We can't risk-"

Hawke stood, sheathing her daggers and facing him the way she had the slavers. He silenced himself quickly. It was interesting to watch. She hadn't had such an effect on him since they were children. She wondered what had changed. It was too drastic a change to just be guilt.

"Carver, I need you to answer me honestly." She stepped towards him, aware distantly that she had chosen now to perfect the posture and stare of a queen that Leandra had always tried to teach her. She wondered if the blood on her hands helped with that. "Do you want the throne?  _Truly_?"

He looked stunned. She knew the thought had occurred to him, to be the golden child. To have the love and respect of the kingdom and the power to rule fairly entrusted to him. But his second year anniversary of joining the guard would be passed in no more than a month. He seemed happier there. The conflict on his face was plain.

"Audrianna-"

" _Don't_." She interrupted coldly.

He watched her like she might attack at any moment. She wouldn't, but it was a fair assessment. "No. I don't."

"Good. Then you are not as stupid as you pretend. And I apologize."

She could see the gears in his head grinding to a halt. His mouth opened and closed a few times giving him an odd resemblance to a goldfish. He ran a hand through his mussed up hair. He looked like he wanted to yell at her about something, but couldn't figure out what. The silk braids in her hands got thicker as she added more strips of fabric. She felt some tension in her chest. Just nervousness, she supposed. She was no longer uncertain of what she wanted. Carver was still her baby brother, even if he was decked out in ceremonial garb and led the royal guard.

"I'm leaving tonight." She informed him curtly. His eyes narrowed.

"Again?" He said. "Was one trip not enough? Do I have to place guards at your door?"

"It's not a trip, Carv."

His mouth hung open and he stammered. His face flushed with irritation. She didn't bother to wait for him to catch up. The daggers in her hands suddenly felt very heavy. She didn't want to fight him.

"Will you try to stop me?" The words hung in the air like a threat between them. She hated that. He looked upset and part of her wanted to hug him like she used to-before they had taken up their separate weapons. She hoped something of the kid that followed her around the castle with light in his eyes was still there.

"I..." He struggled. "I won't stop you."

She let out a slow breath, returning to the braided rope with determination. Carver kicked some of the rubble out of his way with some grumbled curses under his breath and sat down. He grabbed some of the red strips from the gutted drapery and began braiding wordlessly. His posture still gave him away as a soldier, but she could see her little brother in the way he pursed his lips like he'd sucked on a lemon. It made her smile.

"This is a bad idea." He said quietly. She ignored him.

"Find Fenris and tell him I'll meet him in Wycome." She thought briefly about writing it down, but decided against it. Carver shot her another irritated glance. She returned it. "Can you manage that?"

"Rees," He grumbled in warning. She hadn't heard her nickname from him in years.

"It's Hawke now." She said. He studied her face, stopping at her hair and eyes with a look she knew well. It was the same look Leandra gave her when she missed Malcolm. She focused on her rope.

"It fits you." He said. There was a beat before he repeated, "This is a bad idea."

"I know."

They sat in silence after that, braiding the rope into a long winding tendril of fancy fabrics made practical. He helped her tie the knots joining the pieces together so that they would hold, and held the end of it as she belayed out of Bethany's window without a barrier to protect her. She tucked one dagger under her chin as she fell and the other between her teeth. Without another word to her brother, Hawke made her final disappearing act.

…

III

…

"You always make the most interesting friends, Rivaini." Varric's voice carried down the stairs confidently before he was even in sight. To say hearing it was a relief would have been the understatement of the century. Isabela hopped up from where she'd been sulking, shaking out the pins and needles in her legs with vigor. She greeted him with her best smile. The red haired guard from the contests escourted the dwarf into view and gave her a familiar scowl.

"None so interesting as you, Varric. I am a sucker for that chest hair." Isabela grinned. "So good to see you again, Aveline. How's the stick up your ass doing?"

Aveline ignored her and turned to Varric. "The bail for the wench is four hundred sovereigns."

The dwarf staggered back dramatically. "She's barely worth  _five pence_!"

"Four hundred and  _fifty_ , then."

Isabela laughed as he handed over his coin purse and watched the guard count it. He grumbled something about the merchant's guild under his breath, but seemed pleased when Aveline moved to unlock Isabela's cell. The pirate stood up on her tippy-toes, just high enough to give the redhead a quick peck on the cheek. Aveline cringed and tried to dodge it, but Isabela was fast. She winked and looped her arm through Varric's.

Her legs were still a bit unsteady from the spell, so she leaned a little into him for support up the stairs to the main foyer. He made no comment, but told her all about the latest chapter of Swords and Shields, lamenting the struggles of describing genitalia. Isabela was only half listening, her attention focused instead on the guards surrounding the palace exit. As soon as they were out of earshot, she stopped him and pulled him into an alleyway out of sight.

"—and there is just no graceful way to say penetration without… Wait. What are we doing?" There was no suspicion in his voice. Just curiosity. The mark of a good partner in crime.

"You know things, yes?" She asked.

He frowned. "I know a lot of  _things_ , Rivaini. You might want to be more specific."

"About Kirkwall." She said. "History?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Let's say I do. Why?"

"What does the name 'Hawke' mean to you?" She asked.

Varric's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Hawke? Like  _the_  Hawke?"

Isabela shrugged. "Sure, why not.  _The_  Hawke. What have you got?"

The dwarf let out a low whistle and stepped back. He gave the pavement a thoughtful look and scratched his chin where stubble was starting to peek through. "Malcolm Hawke was the Fereldan apostate rumoured to have killed King Matthew. Poison or something. It was never publically declared, though. Just strange timing."

"Explain."

"So this big shot Fereldan apostate comes to town, right? He's helping circle mages escape right out from under the templars nose and even started an underground resistance. Had some ties to the Dalish too, if I'm not mistaken. It was more like a smuggling ring than anything else; except instead of lyrium or weapons, he was stealing  _mages_. Thousands got away. It took the guard about twenty years to capture him." Varric trailed off with a vague hand gesture. "Got old or something, I guess. Anyway, they hung him. A week later King Matthew Amell croaked. Poison or some shit. Lots of people blamed Malcolm. He was a big name at the time."

Isabela nodded slowly, trying to put the pieces together. Was it possible that Rees and Annie were the daughters of this man? It would certainly explain why they'd been so secretive. But why stay in Kirkwall? There were hundreds of small farming villages around the area that wouldn't ask any questions. Especially with Annie being a powerful apostate. Isabela still felt a vague sense of grogginess even hours after the magic had left her body. That sort of strength was rare. It certainly could have come from the notorious apostate. But why risk stealing from the queen's stables? There were hundreds of others that were more low profile—less risk. And venturing into the city alone meant that Annie thought she could blend in. That she was confident Isabela would be the one to get in trouble was odd.

A thought hit her.

"Varric, if I wanted to steal a horse from the royal stables, how would I go about that?" She asked excitedly. He gave her an odd look.

"What are you up to, Bela?"

" _Just answer the question_!"

He sighed and threw up his hands dejectedly. "I don't know. There are guards posted both inside and outside. You'd have to have someone on the inside do it. Those guards memorize the faces of the castle staff, so they'd know you as an outsider immediately. … _What_  does  _that_  look mean?"

Isabela was grinning wildly. "And what did Malcolm Hawke look like, Varric?"

" _What_? Isabela, the man's been dead for  _over twenty years_!"

"And what did he look like?"

"They said he had dark skin and a silver beard. I don't  _know_. They also said he was seven feet tall and built of solid muscle. But people say a lot of things, Bela. I  _hardly_  think—"

"One more thing, Varric." She placed her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes glittered like she was about to take all the money he had in a game of Wicked Grace. Varric's face mirrored the appropriate level of suspicion. She didn't care. She knew how she was going to get her boat at last. "I need you to tell me the story of the apostate that stole the queen's heart."

"You can't  _possibly_  think…" Varric trailed off, looking more and more dubious. Isabela nodded excitedly. "What proof could you have even if it  _was_  true?"

Isabela slung her arm around his shoulders, stooping down low so that she could press her cheek against his. "I have better than proof. I have Malcome Hawke's daughters:  _Audrianna and Bethany Amell_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two more chapters (and an epilogue, don't worry) after this one. Tell your friends, tell your family, tell your enemies. And tell them to all come shower me with praise 'cause I'm finally going to fucking finish a longfic. Hold on to your hats, ladies, gents, and everything in-between. We're at the final countdown.
> 
> And just remember, if you want extra tidbits (including drawings of Rees and gang), check out my tumblr! The username is ingredient-x, and my askbox is probably the fastest way to get a hold of me.
> 
> Until next time! And by that I mean this weekend. I'm gunna finish this monster if it kills me.


	16. The Final Round

…

I

…

The cottage felt empty. Like it wasn’t meant to exist outside of sparring matches with Mora or late drunken nights with Isabela. Fenris had all but bolted the second Annie had led him out of the sewers, ignoring her shouts and not looking back to see if the abomination gave chase. He hadn’t slept yet, but the thought of doing so was beyond him. He paced the wooden floors barefoot and pressed a cloth gently to his wrists, urging the raw skin to heal. He still needed to fight. Rees still needed him to fight.

It sat wrong with him to think of her like that. She had never really needed help. Even when she knew nothing of combat, she had thrown herself at him—a strange, armed fugitive—just on the off chance that it would improve her skills. There was no doubt in his mind that nothing on Thedas could’ve stopped her from becoming the proud fighter she was now. He just happened to be lucky enough to be there for the process. Even now he half expected her to swagger in through the sunlit door full of tiny cuts and bruises she wouldn’t explain with vague questions and a handful of even worse ideas.

But Mora never visited in the daylight.

His stomach clenched uncomfortably, and he pushed his feet hard into the dry wooden floor. His plan thus far had been to wait for Isabela. More accurately, he’d gone through several different plans that involved putting on Ser Vincento’s armour and storming the castle himself. But he had no idea where Rees was being kept (were there separate cells for the condemned), and no ideas as to how to get them both out once he reached her. He’d assumed Isabela would be at the cottage within a few hours of her release. In theory Annie had or was about to send Varric to bail her out, but he couldn’t know for sure without walking around in broad daylight. With the guards crawling the lengths of the roads as thickly as they had last night, he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.

Fenris clenched his fists. He couldn’t stay here and wait. He would not allow it. The pile of armour sat on a wooden chair facing away from the fire pit. Isabela had polished it until the black plating gleamed and the sharp spikes looked like they could pierce flesh as well as any sword. He plucked the helmet from where it hung on the edge of the chair’s backing and scowled at it. If he had been able to just keep walking, to control his temper, the real Ser Vincento would still be alive. The boy would still be dead and Fenris would’ve been halfway through Fereldan. Instead he was pacing in a dead man’s kitchen and mourning a woman that still lived.

Caution ignored, he pulled the helmet on and began strapping on his chest plate. It was a mediocre disguise, but it could at least get him to The Hanged Man. He did not think Annie had lied, but he wasn’t about to start putting his faith in mages anytime soon. Especially when the abomination lurked behind her like a disease.

Just stepping outside the cottage calmed the urgent pangs in his chest. He walked with purpose and the sun beating down on the metal he wore kept him warmer in the winter air. Small ice crystals crunched under his heavily armoured boots as he walked, souvenirs of the night’s chill still melting away in the morning light. It reminded him of the cavern’s floor. A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed hard and kept walking.

He saw the red haired guard and the royal guard (Carver?) patrolling up ahead. It was an odd patrol for guards ranking as highly as they did and they moved urgently. Carver was saying something to her in a low voice that he couldn’t understand. Fenris kept his head high and focused on his steps. He crossed his arms behind his back. It was a poor imitation of the nobles he remembered from Tevinter, and an even poorer imitation of the man he was supposed to be impersonating. It did not matter. He only needed to pass them. A quick bow would be enough interaction. As they approached, he swept to the side of the road like a dutiful citizen and inclined his head. They paused. Shit.

“Ser Vincento!” Carver’s voice was uneasy. “You’ll pardon us; we did not intent to interrupt your stroll.”

Fenris cringed, righting himself so that he could look at the guard. He made a mental note to thank Isabela for the metal grate blocking his eyes from view and kicked himself for picking fights with the royal brat the night before. He spoke evenly, “Thank you, your highness. You are most kind.” He gave another short bow and moved to continue on his way. A firm grip on his bicep stopped him. Fenris was growing more and more painfully aware of the captain’s longsword tied at his hip and the distinct lack of sword at his own back.

“You are planning on winning the contest today, aren’t you?” The guard’s voice was tight, an odd mixture of good natured teasing and tension. “We could use a member of the royal family that isn’t a complete tool.” The red haired guard elbowed him sharply. Carver gave her a forced laugh. “It’s not treason if I’m related, Aveline.”

The guard stared expectantly at him. Fenris fidgeted, worried that he looked unnatural. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Words tumbled out of his mouth like nervous vomit. “I have every intention to. I was headed to the… The Hanged Man. To… retrieve my sword.”

Carver gave him an odd look, but let go of his arm. “Very well. And do beat Ser Gilbert. Between you and me, the man has all the charm of nug shit. I know the princess would consider it a personal favour, as well.” Aveline scoffed loudly beside him and Carver relented.

The words hit him like a sack of bricks. A personal favour from the princess and a place in the royal family? He couldn’t have asked for a better advantage. Surely they could not execute Rees if the Champion of Kirkwall came to her defense. He would be chained forever to the will of the Amell’s, but that didn’t matter. He knew distantly that it meant he would likely never see Rees again but he quelled that thought easily. It was better than living in a world without her.

“Thank you, my lord.” Fenris bowed again, slightly more heart felt. “You are most gracious.”

The captain snorted. “My sister would disagree.” He turned to continue his patrol, but stopped. “Speaking of, you haven’t happened to come across an elf with strange markings have you?”

Fenris shook his head confidently, ignoring the chill down his spine. “I have not.”

“Ah well. It was worth a shot.” The guard waved a hand dismissively. He frowned in thought, then began untying the sword from his belt. Fenris watched him closely. Unexpectedly, the guard held out the sword hilt first. “For you, Ser Vincento. It will save you a trip to that rank pub.”

The handle was slimmer, and the sword itself was lighter. He tugged it out of the ornate sheath experimentally, marveling at the way the slick silver gleamed. It was different in every way from the rusty sword the same captain had confiscated from him. It almost felt delicate. Fenris bowed one more time, unable to stop the smug grin from spreading underneath his helm. He was beginning to understand why Isabela enjoyed her trickery so much.

“You have my gratitude, your highness.” He said smoothly. “I wish you luck with finding your elf.”

…

II

…

She had barely left the palace proper before the adrenaline finally faded from her blood. She’d been near the stables where they’d stolen Stumpy, so she ducked inside. To recoup, she’d told herself, stuffing the last bits of shredded red silk into her pocket. She wasn’t sure why she’d need it, but at the moment she was unwilling to let go of any possible resources. It would be a while until she would come across anything she didn’t have to kill for. The thought of Wycome and meeting Fenris in the tavern by the sea warmed her to the bones. It settled in like a blanket made of soothing sighs and touches he’d covered her in at the cavern.

She had not _meant_ to fall asleep next to Stumpy.

Despite what she had meant, the crick in her neck told her that she had, and the glaring light from the plaza outside the stables told her that escaping in broad daylight wasn’t going to be as simple. She walked quietly between piles of hay to try and get a better look at the guards running around beyond the perimeters. Some carried large wooden planks, others rolls of fine red silk similar to the rags she had stuffed in her pocket. _The contest_.

Rees scowled. Leandra must have known she was missing by now. It was a concerted effort to tether her to the throne before she could pull off the escape. Without Rees there to marry the new Champion, the duty would fall to Bethany. The thought of Ser Gilbert or Ser Vincento touching her baby sister made her taste bile. She had been so sure the night before that this was the best thing she could do. The castle walls themselves felt like they rejected her presence and she had told herself that Bethany didn’t need her protection. Now, as she watched the royal emblem emblazoned on red silk staring at her accusingly from where they set up the royal booth, Hawke was wondering if she had been wrong.

The thought didn’t last long. A gauntlet rested heavily on her shoulder and spun her around. Ser Gilbert and his squire stared at her. She opened her mouth to speak but his hand covered her mouth quickly. He smiled with ale-yellow teeth and cracked lips. His beard was greasy and the hand on her face reeked of something foul. She struggled to find a foothold and shoved his hand away from her. He laughed.

“Leave us be, boy.” Ser Gilbert told the lad. “It seems I have found a pre-emptive reward as the new Champion.”

The boy wasted no time fleeing the stables, his head ducked low in a way that told Rees he’d done it before. She pushed herself to her feet and drew her daggers. The man laughed again and his breath smelled like piss. Her upper lip curled in disgust.

“So the brat has teeth, huh?” He heaved an armoured leg forward, and she side stepped.

It was like working in slow motion in comparison to fighting Fenris. This guy didn’t even have a sword. His fists balled up angrily and he swung at her head. She ducked. He took another step and she side stepped again. He grunted in frustration. She kicked up high at his chin and caught him just underneath the jaw. He staggered back, arms held wide to steady himself. He moved like he was hung-over. Hawke sneered. The man spat.

“You think you have a chance against me, girl?” He growled. “I’m going out in that arena today to become royalty. I’ll have you _executed_.”

“Then do it.” She taunted. “What’s stopping you?”

She stepped left as he stepped right, keeping the distance even between them. His back was to the arena now and she saw the guards taking formation past his shoulder. Ser Vincento stood in the center with his black armour shining darker than the night she’d escaped in. Neither of these men were going to be a problem.

In front of her, Ser Gilbert lunged with wild bloodshot eyes. She moved sharply underneath him and slid her dagger across his throat. Blood splattered across her hands and arms as he fell limply to the floor of the stables. He stared up at her with glassy eyes, mouth gasping for air as his own life flooded out of him. Hawke kept her eyes on him steadily as he died and drew her fingers across the bridge of her nose, using his blood like war paint.

She stared at Ser Vincento next. If Ser Gilbert had fallen so easily, the silent knight would not offer much of a challenge. She remembered the second round and the rose he had thrown at her feet after killing every last spider in the arena. He fought like a poor imitation of Fenris, all bludgeoning and no finesse. Her pulse raced at the thought of it, but she knew she could outmatch him. She was faster. And he couldn’t phase through solid matter.

She rolled the daggers experimentally against her palms, staring down at the body. The armour fit him poorly, fat spilling out where muscle should have kept it firm. She supposed it was cruel to critique the dead. Hawke knelt down and began undoing the clasps. She stripped the armour off of him and strung it across her own chest, flattening her breasts as much as she could. The chainmail hung loose around her middle and the shoulder plates gave her the broad gait of a man. She had just finished pulling on the gauntlets when the squire returned for his master.

The boy stared at her, mouth agape. She realized absently that the blood of the _very_ dead Ser Gilbert was probably not as symbolic or reassuring to him as it had been to her, but it didn’t matter. She had no intention of killing the boy. Ser Gilbert’s silver helm shook in his hands. He looked like he wanted to run. Rees placed a gauntleted finger to her lips and took the helm from him. He did not fight her.

“ _Run_ ,” she whispered.

He took off with a small whimper, tearing into the stands like his life depended on it. She smiled, hearing the guards announce the beginning of the tourney behind her. She turned in time to see Bethany and Carver take their places in the royal booth, next to a very angry Leandra. Her smile broadened into a grin as she pulled the helmet down over her head and grabbed her daggers.

The crowd roared when she stepped out into the arena, citizens chanting the names of their favourite knights. It thrilled her to know neither men would emerge from this arena today. She felt it in her blood.

…

III

…

Fenris gripped his sword in front of him like a lifeline. The red tassle hung beneath the handle with the tiny charm painted to indicate the Amell family. He was nervous, and the deafening roar accompanying Ser Gilbert’s entrance made him feel the effects of skipping a night’s sleep. He felt like his muscles were made of water. He clenched his eyes shut and thought of Rees. It steadied him.

The knight centered himself, but something was off. Fenris couldn’t put a finger on it, but his gait had changed. Perhaps he had not been paying attention as closely during the previous rounds. The elf’s eyes squinted to see more clearly through the grate of his helmet. Ser Gilbert looked… shorter. He had two daggers, one tucked in each palm. Fenris’ eyes widened as he recognized them and his heart froze solid.

Rees’ daggers.

He was too late. They had already killed her. Fenris barely heard Aveline shout the beginning of the match and the screams of the crowd sounded like they came through water. He only narrowly dodged a swipe at his throat with a sharp parry. He blinked furiously, ignoring the sting in his eyes and slammed a shoulder into his opponent. Ser Gilbert fell back with a muffled grunt, but rolled quickly onto his feet again. He spun the daggers so that he could place his thumbs over the tips of the hilts and jumped high into the air. Fenris threw up his arm and tossed the man aside easily. The blow hit the sore spots on his wrist uncomfortably, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

The man’s footwork was sloppy, like Rees’ was, and he charged without subtlety. It took all of Fenris’ agility to keep up with him, spinning and twisting out of the way of the blades, her blades, and knocking him back whenever the opportunity presented itself. Ser Gilbert danced behind him with more grace than he’d ever seen from the man. He felt their backs touch briefly and moved forward as fast as he could to avoid the flurry of blows. One vicious slash caught him just under his shoulder and he swore loudly. The knight faltered. Fenris saw the opening and took it. He drove his blade at the knight’s gut.

Ser Gilbert caught the sword between the two daggers and threw his blade upward, narrowly missing a gash to the neck. He pushed hard against the blade as Fenris growled, trying to bring the weight of it down on the man’s head. The knight slid the daggers forward and stepped in close.

“Goose?” Familiar grey eyes peered out of the silver helmet. Fenris nearly dropped the sword.

“ _Mora?_ ”

Rees let out a breathy laugh but didn’t pause. She spun again, throwing his sword back at him. He swayed backwards and felt blood rush to his head. He didn’t understand. He stared at her in the silver armour, unable to fathom how he had not seen it before. Rees didn’t miss a beat. She ran at him again like she had when he’d held his sword in the ground. He caught her blows easily with the flat of his blade, pushing her off him like it was choreographed. The crowd around them cheered.

“That’s not your sword,” she muttered, careful not to be too loud.

“That’s not your armour,” he returned, unable to stop the smile on his face. “You should surrender. It will be more dignified than losing horribly.”

She laughed again, her feet weaving small circles in the dusty ground as she pivoted cleanly. The hilt of her dagger connected with the back of his helmet with a ringing crash. Fenris swore again and backed away to keep her in his sights. She crouched low.

“And give up the chance to marry a princess?” She asked. Fenris’s stomach dropped. “That’s one hell of a _truth_ , Goose. I’m not sure how I can match that.”

“Hawke, it’s not like that—”

“Hush. I know.” She interrupted him as he righted himself. He heard no malice in her voice. “I’m still going to beat you.”

He scowled, unwilling to attack her. “I will not fight you, Mora.”

“I believe you’ve said that before,” she teased.

He swung at her torso again, pulling back a little when he thought he might make contact. It was enough to continue their dance without risking her. Her boot kicked the blade tip to the ground and she cracked her knuckles against the front of his helmet. He had to step back to regain his balance. Fenris swore again.

“And I will break your nose again if I have to,” she scolded him. “You can do better than that. _Trust me_ , Fenris.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. He felt the tickle of lyrium spread through his chest and legs as he ghosted around her. His blows were unrestrained and she dodged them all like he was waving a napkin instead of a sword. He snarled under his breath at her for sloppy footwork and she laughed, telling him to follow through with his blows. It was like the broken down stables had found their way into the castle grounds, only their wooden sticks had been replaced with sharp blades. One misstep in the stables had had them waltzing across the dirt. A mistake here could be fatal.

He knocked her down again with the brunt of his shoulder and swung his sword high in the air. One of her shoulder plates fell to the side. Grey eyes stared at the blade from beneath him and he hesitated. She pounced, throwing herself at his chest and laying him flat on his back. He coughed violently, trying to catch his breath when he felt her boot heavy on his wrist. He cried out and she shot him an apologetic look. Her knee found his chest and he was the one pinned to the ground for once, staring up at the dagger he’d given her. The tip of it found his neck and tucked underneath the helmet. With a sharp pull, the helmet came off. The crowd fell silent.

“Do you, Ser Vincento,” Rees’ voice boomed. It was unmistakably feminine, “accept defeat?”

Fenris scowled up at her. She nudged him meaningfully. He cleared his throat. “I do.”

Rees dropped her daggers and stood up off of his chest. He felt a rush of cold air enter his lungs and he scrambled to grasp Carver’s sword. The guard had _surely_ noticed by now that neither of them where who they said they were. He pushed himself to his feet. The queen was standing in her booth, eyes like fire and skin paler than cream. The younger princess beside her was on her feet, her hand grasping her brother with white knuckles and big wide blue eyes. He rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and stared down Aveline as she approached Rees with her sword drawn.

“Stand down, Aveline.” Rees’ voice commanded quietly, and the guard faltered. Rees ripped off her own helmet and winked at him. A dark smear of blood was spread over her nose and cheeks, the red contrasting the silver of her eyes and hair. He wondered if it was her own blood. Even seeing her face was enough to soothe him. The guards circled around them did not scare him so long as she stood by his side.

Rees did not seem to notice or care about their approach, sheathing her daggers. He tightened his grip on his own sword, not understanding her casual stance with the guard. The red haired woman was staring at her disapprovingly, but made no move to attack. The crowd was still silent and Rees’s voice cut through the still air like one of her daggers. She looked at the royal booth with light dancing in her eyes. He wanted to throttle her for being so careless.

“Are you stupid?” He hissed. “You are not so talented that we could fell an entire _kingdom_.”

Rees ignored him. She kept her eyes on the queen, but spoke to Aveline. “I believe you have a Champion to name, guardswoman. Or will the queen retract her word?”

Aveline begrudgingly sheathed her sword and grabbed Rees’ wrist. “You are being a _fool_.”

Rees gave her a genuine smile. “I was never great with politics.” She shot Fenris an uneasy look. “One last truth for a truth then, eh?”

Fenris shook his head. He heard the Queen shouting something to the guardsmen, Carver swearing loudly behind them and the princess frantically arguing with her mother. None of it made sense until Aveline lifted Hawke’s arm high into the air and announced her victory.

“The new Champion of Kirkwall and heir to the throne, _Audrianna Amell!_ ”

The crowd erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot even begin to tell you how much fun it was to write this chapter. I’ve been dreaming of these scenes since I started this fic. Ohhh my gosh it finally happened. Just one more chapter to go, folks! Then that’s it. This whole beast is finished. I think I’m going to go eat everything in the pantry now.  
> And also, if you are not reading Where The Sky Will Be Kept by Nebulad, you should be. It’s the most amazing publication ever to exist. Ever. So hop to it!


	17. Going Out With a Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I go on to post the final chapter, I wanted to thank you all for following this story as it was being made. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to get all the encouraging reviews, or hear from people on tumblr saying they recommended this fic to their friends. You guys have made me feel so special and talented and seriously I cannot thank you enough. It means the world to me. 
> 
> In this chapter is a brief cameo of Nebulad’s very own Luca. Should I ever get around to writing a sequel to this thing, you’ll be seeing a lot more of her. But I cannot claim credit for her creation, so go shower Nebulad with praise. And then shower me with praise just ‘cuz I’m thirsty like that hahaaaaa.
> 
> Hoo boy I’m nervous. Final chapter. Here we go.

…

I

…

 

“That’s one hell of a truth, _Goose_ ,” Fenris mimicked. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever top _that_.”

 

Rees snorted. She scratched underneath the one remaining shoulder plate then underneath the dried blood on her cheeks. The smell of horse shit and hay still lived happily in her pores and the layer of sweat still on her skin made her feel greasy. She’d never felt more at home on the cold palace floors. A circle of guards surrounded them with their swords pointed to where she and Fenris sat. Hawke ignored them and leaned back until she fell over, the cold floor feeling great on her back after an intense fight. Fenris scowled at her and pointedly did not follow suit.

 

“Oh, come on. You have to admit it was an excellent end to that horrid contest.” she said. She frowned thoughtfully at the high ceilings. “Though I suppose I have to marry myself now.”

 

“I doubt that will be allowed.”

 

“ _That’s_ your issue with this whole situation?”

 

“One of many, _your majesty_.”

 

Fenris hadn’t looked her in the eyes since Aveline announced her as victor. It was beginning to worry her. Rees reached out a hand to lay on his back and cringed when he flinched. She moved the hand just under her chest instead. He looked guiltily at the floor, but did not move to explain himself.

 

“That’s not me, you know,” she said quietly.

 

“What isn’t you?” He snapped irritably. “You have enough names for half the kingdom and identities to match.”

 

She bit her tongue, staring intently at the delicate glasswork that stained the sunlight coming in through the high windows. They stretched from the tips of the arcing towers to the marble floor beneath. It made the palace seem fragile. She sat up and shuffled around to sit in front of him. He was still pretending to be fascinated by the floor tiles, tapping a finger against them absently. She tugged her gauntlets off with her teeth and placed her hands on the floor between them, careful not to invade his space. There were scars and still healing scrapes from the caverns. A bloody scab that covered most of her left palm from when she’d reached out into the pitch black to slow their fall.

 

His eyes slid to her hands cautiously. It was like he was waiting for her to tell him it was a cruel joke. Like she wasn’t real. She stayed silent and still. He slid off his own gauntlets and picked her left hand off the floor. He ran a thumb over the smooth scabbing, eyes lost in thought. She wiggled her fingers experimentally and he furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t move away. Gently, she brought her other hand up to cup his, tracing a finger around the red marks where the shackles had been. It was raw and swollen like a ring of blisters. The fight earlier probably didn’t help much either. The gash on his shoulder had stopped bleeding at least, but it still glared a nasty red against his skin. She dropped his hand to fiddle in her pockets.

 

“What am I to call you?” He asked quietly. “Or am I to leave once this is done?”

 

Rees pulled the tattered shreds of silk out of her pocket. The one she’d ripped from her evening gown was a sturdy sky blue. In another light, it would’ve matched the lyrium veins stretched across his torso. She wrapped the end of it around his shoulder, just under the wound and carefully wrapped it upwards until only a tiny bit of red soaking through the fabric spoke for the injury beneath. He watched her work without objection. She pulled the red silk from her pocket next and he made a face. She smiled.

 

“Not black enough for you?” She teased. He rolled it eyes. She tied it neatly around the blistered wrist regardless, careful not to break the skin. The red fabric was tied more messily, loose ends hanging off more like a decoration than a bandage. “I suppose you’ll just have to stick out a little more until I can find real bandages.”

 

He looked up at her and this time she avoided his eyes. The muscle in his jaw twitched they way it did when he was about to correct her footwork. The scarf wrapped hand moved from her fingers to her jaw, gently lifting her face so that he could study it. She squirmed beneath his gaze.

 

“You look nothing like the queen. How is that?” He asked finally.

 

Rees blinked at him. “My mother? I… well. I look like my father.”

 

He stroked a thumb over her cheek, feeling the dried blood and staring at it suspiciously. “Yours?” he asked.

 

Rees allowed herself a wry grin. “I believe it is my turn to ask. A truth for a truth, right?”

 

Fenris snorted, relenting. His hands found hers on the floor, holding her firmly like she might be ripped out of his grasp at any moment. It was comforting. She squeezed his hands a little. “In the caverns,” she paused. Her voice shook a little more than she wanted it to. “In the caverns, you told me that that kiss was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Is that… still true?”

 

She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Rees watched him consider the question carefully, weighing out the appropriate response.

 

“I’d be lying if I said the events afterwards did not surpass it with ease,” he teased. She let out a breath of relief. He wasn’t finished. “But then I knew you as Rees Hawke. _Mora_.” He stopped, feeling her grow rigid in his grasp. “The question remains. How am I to address you?”

 

“The blood is not mine,” she dodged carefully. “Ser Gilbert’s, actually. He was a pig.”

 

“Men in power usually are.” Fenris responded blandly. “I can only imagine the influence of an entire kingdom. Such dalliances are… common, are they not?”

 

She looked at him, horrified. “Fenris, that’s not what you were to me. _Are_ to me.”

 

Fenris pulled her hands closer to him and stared insistently. “Then tell me who you are. Your name, _Mora_.”

 

She pulled in a shaky breath. The fluttering in her stomach was anything but helpful. She scolded herself. She’d quite literally killed a man in cold blood and claimed the title of Champion all within the last few hours, but this stupid beautiful elf was still giving her a panic attack with nothing but green eyes and soft lips. He watched her like there was nothing else he could possibly think to look at. Somehow, even in the palace she’d tried to hard to escape, he still gave her courage.

 

“I…” She started quietly. Too quietly. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I am yours, Fenris. What you call me doesn’t matter so long as you call me something.”

 

His eyes widened and she thought for a split second that she’d asked too much. He pulled on her hands until she was halfway onto his lap and brought his lips to hers. He let go of her hands only to hold her face still. Her eyes fell closed and for a moment, just a moment, the empty throne didn’t matter. She pushed herself onto his lap completely, wrapping her legs around his waist and smiling into the kiss as she felt his hands drop to clasp behind her to hold her in place. Breaking away, she rested her forehead against his.

 

“And you?” She asked, voice barely a whisper. He smiled. It was something warm and genuine, rare and precious. She tried to memorize it.

 

“I remain at your side, do I not?” He replied smoothly. She laughed, unable to stop the giddy feeling bubbling in her chest. He looked pleased. He gestured with a jerk of his head to the guards still surrounding them. Some were making faces.  “I assume you have a plan. Something less flashy than your last, I hope.”

 

“You didn’t like my grand entrance?” Hawke pouted. “Here I was thinking I looked dashing.”

 

“Be serious, Mora,” he said, but the corners of his mouth were curled upwards. “You do have a plan, correct?”

 

Hawke scratched the back of her head and ran fingers through her hair. It was messy, but she didn’t care. “I uh… Well. No. I thought I could wing it through this bit.”

 

“Through the part where the royal family decides whether or not to execute us.” Fenris deadpanned. She winced.

 

“I hardly think that is on the table, considering--”

 

The high doors behind the throne swung open with a loud crash. Advisors were tripping down the stairs trying to keep up with a furious Leandra Amell. Her crown lay askew on her head, and the long translucent blue sleeves of her dress had visible tears, presumably from the commotion after the final round. Her mouth was stretched into a thin tight line, and her eyes never for a moment left Rees’ face. Rees stood out of habit, her posture straightening. She wished she had her daggers. They were quickly becoming comforting. Fenris stood beside her and slipped his hand into hers. She wove her fingers through his and squeezed gently.

 

The guard stood in attention, sheathed their ceremonial blades, and saluted. Leandra waved them away with a quick gesture. They knelt down, swords balanced on their knees, tassels outward. The guards standing between them and the queen parted, taking their places behind the back lines. Rees held tight to Fenris hand as her mother sat on the decorated throne. She stared down at them like she had taught Rees to do during trials.

 

“If you would,” Leandra’s voice was like ice. “I would hear your explanation for the sabotage of the royally sanctioned contest, Princess Audrianna.”

 

Fenris flinched beside her, still obviously not pleased about this new addition to her list of identities. She squared her shoulders and tried to exude confidence. The queen matched her, blue eyes trained on her and chin held high. Hawke stood steadfast.

 

“I told you I had no desire to get married.” She said wryly.

 

Leandra’s expression soured. “So you forced my hand in front of witnesses. Though you did murder a knight to do so.” Her eyes slid to Fenris. “And I assume you are not really Ser Vincento.”

 

“No.” Fenris said flatly. No ‘your highness’ or ‘your majesty’ tacked on. Just plain and simple. Rees fought the urge to smile. Leandra picked up on it and her scowl twisted her face into an ugly look.

 

“Then you recognize I could have you both exiled for high treason.” She watched Rees for a reaction. Hawke gave her none. “Or hung.”

 

Fenris tensed and Hawke scoffed. “You’d be the second person this morning to threaten me with death.” That earned her a glare from both her mother and the elf. She shrugged. “So lets go with exile.”

 

Leandra laughed. It was a hollow sound. “And, what, declare the throne to be up for grabs? What with your brother in the guard and your sister being… Well…” She trailed off, eyeing Fenris suspiciously. “You see the predicament you put me in, Audrianna. I cannot allow you to go gallivanting off with this commoner. An _elf_ , no less.”

 

Fenris’ snarled response was cut off by a door on the upper balcony slamming open. A cloud of black smoke poured out of her sister’s room. Bethany came tearing out, followed by a singed looking Carver. He was coughing puffs of smoke and soot lined his extremely bitter expression as he chased the smaller girl down the flights of stairs to the throne. Bethany had kicked off her heels and tossed the shawl she had around her for the contest in Carver’s face to give her more of a lead and lept down the stairs three at a time.

 

“Wait!” Bethany cried out, arms flailing frantically. Carver was closing in behind her, but the youngest princess slid past the guards and swung behind Hawke quickly. A dozen blades were pointed at their throats instantly. Hawke swallowed. Leandra was on her feet, paler than usual. Carver stood beside the throne, panting a little and leaning on his knees to try and catch his breath. Leandra opened her mouth to speak.

 

“Wait!” Bethany said again, interrupting her mother. Hawke stared at her in surprise. “I can fix this!”

 

“Bethany!” Leandra hissed. “Get back to your room, now.”

 

“No.” Bethany still clung to Hawke’s shoulders, peering out at their mother cautiously, but her tone was firm. “Send away the guards.” Leandra hesitated and Bethany’s fingertips sparked. “Now.”

 

“And the mage employs fear to get what she wants.” Fenris growled. “Admirable.”

 

Bethany shot him an irritated look. “I’m about to save your skin, Goose. Stop scowling at me.”

 

Fenris stared at her suspiciously, obviously not accepting her knowledge of the nickname as proof of trustworthiness. Leandra nodded at the guard captain, eyes never leaving her youngest daughter. They retreated in a formal line, marching out of the palace and onto the terrace without a word of protest. Carver moved to follow his men, but Leandra placed an arm across his chest to stop him.

 

“Do you mean to threaten your mother, Bethany?” Leandra’s voice was shrill.

 

“No, mother.” Bethany let go of Hawke’s shoulders once the swords were gone and waved a healing spell at Carver. Fenris had gone so rigid that Hawke wasn’t sure he was breathing. One look at his face told her he was barely restrained. She circled her thumb reassuringly over his, bringing his attention back to her. His expression softened slightly. Bethany moved to stand between Hawke and Leandra. She continued, “I believe I have a solution for this situation.”

 

Leandra did not speak. Bethany looked back at Hawke for encouragement. She nodded at her sister. “Go on, Bethy.”

 

“I believe I can take Rees’... Er. _Audrianna’s_ place.” She stuttered a little.

 

“ _That’s_ your plan?” Leandra scolded. “Don’t be _foolish_. It would only take one templar to notice your gifts. And besides, it would hardly quell the rumours of your sister’s delinquency.”

 

Bethany’s cheeks puffed up. “Not as myself, mother. As Audrianna. No one would know she’d left.”

 

Comprehension dawned on Hawke as quickly as the glimmer spread from the tip of Bethany’s head, down her back and past her robes to her toes. Her short brown hair grew longer, tan skin darkened to Rees’ shade, lips fuller and blue eyes brown. Fenris’ jaw almost hit the floor. Bethany, or Annie rather, turned around and winked at him.  

 

“Sorry for the surprise. Couldn’t go about blowing my cover, could I?” She beamed proudly. Fenris looked like he was torn between punching her and hugging her. Hawke grinned. Bethany stepped closer to her and placed her fingers on Rees’ temples. The glimmer altered slowly, silver filling her irises like mercury until the colour spilled out of the top of her head into her hair. When she removed her hands, they were mirror images. Even the blood stain across the nose had been accounted for. It was eerie.

 

The Fake Rees turned back to their mother and curtsied properly, robes held between pinched fingers. Carver looked stunned. Leandra had found a way to lose even more colour from her cheeks. She was livid.

 

“Absolutely not.” She sliced her hand through the air as if to execute the very idea. “I will not risk one daughter so that the other may--”

 

Something crashed against the palace doors. Bethany’s glimmer flickered away as she turned around. Hawke let go of Fenris’ hand to reach for her daggers. He drew his sword. Another blow to the door rang through the hall. A scream from the guards pierced through the door, followed by the soft thud of a body hitting the ground. The handles of the great doors jiggled slightly before going still.

 

With a gentle click, the lock opened and Isabela slinked past the door. She held it open courteously for a blonde woman Hawke didn’t recognize. A bladed staff glowed blue at her back, contrasting the yellow-gold curls of her hair and the gold of her eyes. She had a grin that spelled trouble and the splatter of blood on her left cheek to back it up. Isabela waited for her to pass then shut the door with a bump of her hips. The pirate slid her daggers back into their sheaths and grinned at them.

 

“What? No ‘Glad to see you’re alright, Bela’ or even ‘I was so worried, Bela’? I’m hurt.” She sauntered over to them lazily, skirt swinging with each sway of her hips. The boot heels clicked against the tile. The young woman followed Isabela fearlessly. “I even brought you a present.”

 

Hawke grinned. “You really shouldn’t have.”

 

“No,” Isabela said. “I suppose not. But her name was Luca _Swallows_. I just _had_ to.” She gave Luca’s ass an appreciative squeeze. The blonde did not seem to mind at all. “Besides, a pirate captain needs a crew. And no offense to you two lovebirds, but you won’t be able to cut it without help. The Siren II needs to be handled like a proper lady.”

 

“Pirate?” Leandra sounded faint. “What in the Maker’s name made you think you would be received warmly in my court?”

 

“More than _warmly_ ,” Isabela cooed. “I expect to leave with half the royal coffers and a brand new ship. I already have one picked out, if you’d be so kind. That one with the lovely bust of a woman on the bow? Great tits for a statue and even better sails. I could _really_ rip through the water on that beauty.”

 

“Seize her!” The queen cried. Leandra pushed Carver forward with a sharp jab. He stumbled forward awkwardly without his sword, looking to where it stayed in Fenris’ hands. Isabela smiled.

 

“Now then, if you’re wanting to negotiate, I’d be happy to give you my offer.” She walked in a careful circle around Carver to where Rees stood. “Your son, I take it? And two lovely daughters. Truly talented. It’s a right shame about their father.”

 

Leandra froze and Hawke felt her heart come to a halt. The hands on her daggers tensed.

 

“They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Her mother said, but her voice was hoarse.

 

“Better to speak ill than not at all,” Isabela retorted. “Or is Malcolm Hawke still considered controversial?”

 

Carver fell back, looking frantically to his mother for guidance. Leandra held her head high and afixed the pirate with a frosty look. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

 

“Oh, please.” Isabela rolled her eyes. She gestured to Rees and Bethany in a smooth sweep. “The silver hair, the magical talent--you _are_ Annie, aren’t you dear? Good--and they practically told me themselves. How did you phrase it again?”

 

“ _It’s complicated_ , I believe,” Fenris supplied. She scrunched up her nose.

 

“I _did_ tell you I had family issues.” Rees offered lamely. He gave her a wry smile.

 

The queen stepped forward with a defeated sigh. Her eyes were cast low and the lines in her face looked all the more pronounced. Thin frail fingers touched the gems she wore at her wrist and neck for reassurance. “A… _boat_ , you said?”

 

Isabela whooped loudly. “See, I _knew_ you’d come around.”

 

…

II

…

 

The sun was setting on Kirkwall by the time Rees had packed her bags full of the many pairs of stolen blouses and trousers she’d hidden in her wardrobe. Fenris had marvled at the mess she’d made of her chambers, pointedly stepping over the bits of glass shrapnel and trying to herd Hector away from potential splinters as she worked. He kept a back to the wall so as to keep an eye on Bethany who was working on her best impersonations of Rees.

 

“Out of my way, filth,” Bethany’s voice was dropped to a lower tone. She slashed her hands through the air, pretending to hold daggers. “I will end you if I must!”

 

Rees laughed and Fenris snorted. He motioned to her sister with a sly grin. “Even your sister’s footwork is better than yours.”

 

“Oh come off it,” Rees said. She slung her bag over her shoulder with a small wheeze. Fenris raised an eyebrow and watched her stumble across the room under the weight of it before taking it off her hands as she passed him. She stared at him incredulously. “How do you do that? You’re so _skinny_.”

 

He rolled his eyes but carried the damn thing down the stairs without comment. Her brother had already said his terse goodbyes, leaving to take care of the knocked out guards Isabela had scattered across the front of the palace before it started to affect morale. Leandra was nowhere in sight, Hawke noticed. A small part of her heart hurt knowing that she wouldn’t come down to see her daughter off on her journey. Fenris wove his fingers between hers and gave her a knowing look. She squeezed his hand.

 

Bethany fell behind them, footsteps slowing to a halt as they got closer to the palace doors. The glimmer fell off of her like water, replaced with two tear-filled blue eyes. Hawke tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but was engulfed in a hug instead.

 

“You are coming back to visit me.” Bethany insisted. “And frequently.”

 

“Of course, sister.” Hawke closed her eyes tight and pressed her nose into Bethany’s hair willing herself to remember every detail. “I’ll write.”

 

“You had _better_ ,” Bethany threatened.

 

She let go of Hawke shakily, hands jerking back as if the motion was forced. Rees pressed her palm against the stinging in the corner of her eyes threatening to become tears. Opposite as always, Bethany let the tears roll freely down her cheeks, dabbing at them gently with her sleeve. She offered a sheepish grin. Hawke felt a swell of pride in her chest.

 

“You make such a perfect princess,” Rees said softly.

 

Bethany shoved at her shoulder gently with a laugh. “It’s _queen_ now, actually. And yes. Yes, I do.”

 

The sisters parted ways, Hawke gripping Fenris’ hand tightly all the way to the piers. He did not comment on the few tears that escaped her, or the way she hid them by taking sudden interest in merchant’s tables. Instead he let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked. Rees leaned her head onto his shoulder.

 

The Siren II had been polished until it sparkled. The maidenhead at the front of the bow held her arms to her chest, her elbows covering the peaks of her ample bosom. Billowing white sails fluttered and sang as the winter wind strained against the fabric. The wood was a glowing red in the dusk light, brass railings gleaming like gold. Isabela was right. The ship was beautiful.

 

Hawke stilled, pulling Fenris to a halt with her. He let her bag sink to the ground and gave her a questioning look. She stepped out of his reach and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

 

“What is it, Hawke?” He asked.

 

“I…” She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to follow me. You know that, right?”

 

His eyes widened, hurt. “You do not want me to? After all this, you wish me to leave?”

 

“No!” Hawke blurted. “No! The opposite, in fact. I just… I want to make sure you know that it’s your choice. I don’t want you to feel pressured or--”

 

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to his chest roughly crashing their lips together again. She pressed close into him, feeling his leg between her thighs, arms wrapped around her to keep her upright. She hummed softly into the kiss and played with his hair until he was content to let her take a breath.

 

“I enjoy following you, Hawke,” He said with an easy smile. “If there is a future to be had, I would rather be at your side.” He paused to kiss her forehead. “I am _yours_ , Rees.”

 

A small shower of snow danced around them, tickling her cheeks and sticking to Fenris’ hair. For a second, it seemed like a real flurry until they looked up to see Luca weaving the cloud above them with magic and Isabela laughing uproariously.

 

“Come on, you two!” The pirate hollered with a roguish grin. “We’ll never make it to Antiva for the Festival of wines if you keep that up!”

 

Fenris looked mortified, but Rees was laughing. She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the shifty looking wooden ramp connecting the boat to the harbour. The steps creaked beneath them and swung gently with the shift of weight, but she didn’t care. The second she stepped aboard the vessel, relief washed over her in waves. Isabela was rattling off rules and duties at them as Luca snapped the ropes attached to the ramp with a swing of her staff. Hawke paid attention to neither things, nor the jerk of the ship as the wind pushed it away from the port.

 

All that Rees Hawke knew was that she was finally, _finally_ home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for an epilogue!


	18. Epilogue: Sunlight, Starlight, and Sea

_Dearest Sister,_

_I’ve never been good with words, so forgive me if my letters lack--what did you call it?--poetry. To reassure you first, I am alive and well. No limbs are missing (that I have been informed of), and my hair has grown significantly since we left Rivain. Isabela has taught me how to keep dreads. Sometimes she weaves silver rings or coins into them. She calls it “pirate fashion”. It is definitely a step up from an itchy wig._

Behind Rees, the aforementioned pirate was braiding intricate patterns into Luca’s blonde hair. The mage was pushing her fingers through her roots and bleaching the brown until it matched the golden hue of her curls. Isabela giggled at each burst of magic against her bare thighs were Luca’s head rested. Luca wore only slightly more than the pirate, a tight breast band barely containing an ample bosom and the smalls that hugged her curves like they were precious. Rees’s eyes dragged along the woman’s body distractedly.

_I wish I could paint you a picture of the beautiful things I’ve seen, Bethy. There were red cliffs and endless rivers, like… Shit, I don’t know. Something endless. I’ll have to show you one day. Consider that my next promise, okay? And please do not worry about me. I am happy here. We are happy here. Fenris too, if you can believe it. We have a little family all our own. I’m not sure how to describe it, but it is uniquely ours._

The mage had her legs thrown over Fenris’ back, where he lay on the bed trying very hard to concentrate on the book Isabela had lent them for reading lessons. His expressions had gentled since the beginning of their trip, and his white hair had grown long enough that he tied it back in a loose pony-tail. It cascaded over his bare shoulders and around his neck so he could tug at the end thoughtfully as he pieced together words. It had taken Isabela weeks of coaxing to pull the two of them into her bed and a month of fervent persuasion to invite Luca. But Fenris was as relaxed around the mage now as he had ever been with Hawke. It still surprised Rees to see it.

_We’re headed to the Fereldan border next. Fenris thinks that we could track down slavers there and Isabela assures us they have plenty of wealth we can redistribute. I believe she means to steal it, but I can’t find myself objecting. Don’t tell Aveline._

The turned her head away from her writing again at the sound of Isabela placing slow wet kisses down the side of Luca’s neck. The mage hummed and her eyes fluttered shut with a closed-lipped smile. Her slender fingers moved from her own hair to the pirate’s bare chest. Careful caresses brought out a breathy moan from the pirate and a twitch of the jaw from Fenris who pretended determinedly not to notice. He shot Rees an impatient look when she caught him looking her way. He puffed out a breath irritably when she went back to her writing, still insistent on ignoring the mostly naked women avidly making out mere inches from where he lay.

_I miss you every day, sister, and hope you are as safe and happy as I am. Someday I will bring you out to see the ocean yourself. You’ve always been able to describe it better, and trust me when I say it’s vast. It’s different when you have nothing to guide you but the stars and a fierce captain. Sometimes, I swear Isabela has weathered more storms than she tells us, but I trust her completely._

“Starlight,” Isabela murmured against Luca’s neck. The nickname had been assigned when Isabela first tangled her coarse hair into sectioned off dreads. She said the silver shone like the northern star. Fenris insisted quietly that the light was instead to be found in her eyes. Warmth spread through her belly at the memory, only snapping back to reality when Isabela extracted another soft moan from the mage. “Your presence is needed.”

Fenris snorted. “I believe you’ll manage just fine without Hawke.”

“Sure,” Luca said easily, “but why end with just ‘managing’? We only aspire to greatness, Fenris. You must know this by now.”

“We aspire to make art, sweetness.” Isabela added, dragging a pliant Luca across her lap to drape her dramatically across her knees. Luca feigned a swoon that gave her an excuse to reach for Fenris’ ass. He jolted upright, closing the book with one hand and shed the blankets covering him to walk to Rees’ desk. He pressed his bare torso against her shoulder blades and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“S-Sis--..Sister.” He sounded out quietly. “For Bethany?”

Rees nodded, leaning her head into his. “I promised.”

“The promise of a Hawke is a powerful thing,” he muttered amusedly. She grinned. He let his arm slide around her shoulders, hand resting limply just above her own breast band. The red ribbon she had tied around his wrist had become a permanent fixture.

She’d offered to swap it out for something darker (the elf did love all hues of black) but he’d refused. Even when the injury was healed, it remained. It had become sort of a token of affection between them. Isabela and Luca had followed suit after a while, each with a red band of their own tied beneath their shoulders and above their biceps. Hawke kept hers tied around the straps of her waistband, letting the ends flow loose and free. Fenris had commented that it made her attacks look more like a dance.

Her quill was drying as she tried to think of anything else to add. She’d already scribbled words in the margins. Small phrases in other languages that Bethany would study and analyze for days, accompanied by vulgar drawings added by Isabela.

She eyed the daggers she kept nearby on the desk, gold rimmed handles glittering in the candlelight. It had been a gift he’d purchased with the money from their first raid. He’d passed them off to her like it had been nothing of note, but she knew it had cost him a small fortune. The daggers had since been named Collisus and Metus‏. Something Fenris had suggested when he was drunk enough on wine to speak Tevene, though he refused to translate once sober.

Beside the blades stood Fenris’ broadsword. The huge blade reflected the dancing flame like a mirror, the metal shining and smooth. She’d suggested he name it Mercy. He had laughed and agreed. Fenris followed her gaze to the weapons and kissed her neck softly. His hand reached over hers and guided her quill. His letters were still shaky, but he was writing with more confidence each day.

**I will protect your sister with my life. I promise this.**

He scrawled a hasty ‘F’ instead of a full signature and pressed his lips to Hawke’s cheek. The corners of her mouth curled up in an involuntary smile.

“Perhaps that is enough for now, Mora,” he whispered into her ear, nipping at the tip. Rees shivered and tilted her chin up so he could run his hand across her throat and feel the vibrations when she let out a soft moan. The shaky breath he took in after was reward enough. Her eyes slid to his then to the lavish bed behind them.

Isabela had already spread Luca across the red sheets, taking up the space Fenris had left. The pirates mouth was between the mage’s legs, a hand still firmly gripping a breast and toying with the breast band until she’d freed one hardened nipple. Luca turned her head to watch them with parted lips and winked when she cause Rees’ eye. Rees grinned.

_I have an urgent matter to attend to, sister, so I will leave you with that. Give my love to Carver and please take Hector on more walks. He has a knack for finding adventure._

_All my love,_

_R. Hawke_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! That's the final chapter.


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